Don’t Count Your Chicks

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10-week old “Farmyard Mix” Chickabiddies

Tomorrow is moving day.  True Love Farm, just down the road, will be the new home for our 10- and 14-week old chicks to help fill CSA shares with fresh eggs this upcoming year.

It has been an interesting journey, thus far, for this flock.  The 14-week olds had a horrible, tragic experience when they were less than one day old.  We had tucked them safely into their brooder box after hatching and found them all drenched and drowned or nearly drowned the next morning.  Unbeknownst to us, the waterer that we had put in with them had a leak and had filled the plastic box gradually, and by morning it was a swimming pool.  It still seems miraculous that about 30, of 40, were able to be resuscitated and survived.

We had to incubate more to try to make up for the loss.  When this next group hatched out, they experienced an unidentified malady in their barn stall at about 6 weeks old.  We weren’t sure why 5 seemingly healthy chicks were becoming weak and dying and we quickly added electrolytes to the water, hoping to strengthen the remaining flock to fight off whatever had befallen them.

However, more heartbreak in the upcoming weeks was a result of “picking” between the two groups of chicks as we gradually integrated them.  The older birds were scarily mad with bullying the younger group and it seemed we could not segregate and rescue them quickly enough. We lost 4 chicks in what felt like 1992 Los Angeles in the barn. We created a “hospital stall” which allowed 5 patients that did survive to heal, coating their badly bloodied bodies with ointment after peroxide baths.  After about a week, feathers started to grow again and energy returned to the poor little babes.

Seemingly overnight, the bullies found other hobbies and the quarreling stopped.  The flocks were finally integrated and thriving, free-ranging the pastures, woods and surrounds of the barn.

Since the order was for layer hens, 10 roosters went into the freezer last Friday.

It was time for a final assessment.  One little chick has “bumble foot” which is a genetic-defect that occurs now and then.  She can go with the others if the farm wants her, but if they do not, then she will have a home here.

The order is for 50 pullets.  We attempted to tally. The flock has a tendency to move around and come out of or go into hiding just when you’ve almost finished counting heads but we thought there were 30ish hens.

And then 2 more crowed.

“I’m bigger than you!”

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Kittens and hedgehogs and honeybees, oh my!

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Putting on miles and smiles.                                                                                               New goings’ ons with the farm and the fam in the past week and a half:

Giles, 6 weeks old, adopted by one very soft-hearted Tammy when she was actually going to pick up a kitten for a friend of a friend.  Come on, didn’t we all suspect this might happen?  No one should ever send me to pick up a kitten for a friend of a friend!  Husband Jim suggests that we can keep Giles if the goats go.  He’s such a kidder….:-)

Cricket & Giles & Aisling meeting up for the first time.  It took Giles about 4 days to acclimate to the rest of the household menagerie.  He loves everyone and they’re all fine with him, too, except that the older cats are pretending he doesn’t exist.  

Sarah Jane is home for the summer and here she is with her 6 week old hedgehog, “Rosy.”

Rosy eats ground up cat food.  She is nocturnal so her days are pretty quietly spent in her “Moist & Fresh” refrigerator box with cedar shavings for litter, a solid wheel for exercise, and a cat-proof screen covering the top!  Her reaction to new or sudden movements is to extend her quills outward and sort of shiver, making a “teakettle noise”, as Sarah Jane puts it.  It reminds me of when our peacock displays, shimmying and rattling his plumage to intimidate.  Rosy is really sweet and shy right now, though becoming more socialized as the days go by.

We spent three days in Burlington at the Vermont All State Music Festival with Charlotte, one of the 236 choristers.  The music was fantastic, the full days were exhausting for Char, and we were happy to return home to our farm in time for Mother’s Day.

Mother’s Day was spent retrieving and transferring 6 nucs of honeybees that arrived from Georgia.

Jody, who is also home from college now, was instrumental in helping me to get the bees into their new homes. Here is a fun picture showing the back of his head covered with some honeybee friends and Fig, the peacock, displaying. Life is never dull on Wing and a Prayer Farm! I had Jody kneel near the hives so that I could brush the party off and into their new box.

Bee’s Knees…NOT! What happens when I get stung. Sadly the gal that did this to me lost her life with the stinger. I’m o.k. by now, just super-itchy and still a bit swollen. The inflammation should be gone by the weekend(I hope!)

Hard working honeybees find pollen on our Tree Peonies in today’s sunshine.

Aisling helps me to “skirt” the fleeces on Shearing Day.  Here I am working on Iglesias’ fleece, pulling off any dirty or matted tags around the edge.  I then roll the fleece and sheet up and tie them with baling twine before further processing them.

Fred DePaul has been coming to our farm to help us shear for the past 10 years. He is never short on stories and we always send him home with Chicken Pot Pie at the end of the day.

Gandalf & Yogi in their new summer suits.

Today Indian Blue Runner Ducklings arrived from California Hatchery. We waited and waited on the eggs which I’d salvaged from the abandoned nests in the garden, hoping against hope for life after death where my Blue Runner Ducks were concerned. But after plenty of waiting, there was nothing to show for it except for reeking and spoiled duck eggs. California Hatchery speedily filled an order and these 9 gals and 3 guys arrived in good health.

“Quack!”

Just before a fresh salmon dinner this evening, Jim & I wrestled 10 little lambs and gave them their CD & T boosters.  I can happily cross it off the day’s list, put a fresh ice pack on my knee, and bid this day adieu.  

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Don’t throw the baby out with the bath water and other good advice

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When my first child was born, a well intentioned relative couldn’t wait to recommend her favorite babysitters to me upon my arrival home from the hospital. To this day, I vividly recollect that the last thing, the very last thing, that was on my mind was to leave them with a babysitter.

I had that fierce “throw yourself in front of a Mack truck” reaction to any perceived threat to my littles’ well-being, including that I couldn’t tolerate their crying for a minute.

I did suffer post partum depression and severe anxiety in the weeks following my children’s births, but what calmed my frazzled soul above all things was the satisfaction of rocking my contented newborns, sharing those moments with my husband, and of course, achieving any kind of unfragmented sleep.

These days, I foolishly throw sleep away to read just a little too late or allow the dogs and cats to sleep with me.

Another well-intentioned relative suggested to let them be while I was challenged with colicky babies.  ”In her day,” she’d said, “you just put them in the playpen and let them cry it out.”  She also brought piles of newspapers and magazines to read while she would offer to sit with the babies.  I couldn’t imagine how she would get all that reading in while she was there to spend time watching my cherubs.  I lived there with them and hadn’t been able to read the daily mail for a week!

I find a fair amount of time for my own pursuits now, including reading, and happily set them aside when my grown kids and I have a chance to talk together.

Through the years, I caught a lot of flack for carrying my children too long (“You won’t want to hold that kid all day when he’s a 5-year-old!”) or for letting them play with my apron strings while I was cooking.  Literally, Sarah Jane would tie herself to my apron strings and hold onto my legs in the kitchen while Char was in my arms, on my hip, and Jody would be on a chair or stool helping to measure, chop or cook something up with me.

It’s especially nice, now, that Char offers to cook every Friday night, Jody can bake the most amazing chocolate cake you’ll ever taste, and Sarah Jane sews up incredibly detailed aprons like nobody’s business.

I also experienced hurt feelings when more well-intentioned friends criticized my home-schooling decision.  There were a few years when parents of my kids’ friends had been in and out of my home for birthday parties, sleepovers, car-pools, tea and dinners.  When we made the leap into homeschooling from a couple of years of local public school, those same friends just fell out of our lives.  There were many times when we were asked, “Are you sure this was a good idea?”

Needless to say, 10 years at home did not ruin their lives.

One doesn’t want to spend too much time analyzing these periods of growth and life.  It doesn’t change things.  I have learned and continue to learn so much from every decision made in rearing my children.

And could I have done things differently? You betcha.  You sit there with a brand new life in your arms and realize the responsibility you have and do your best.  I believe humans are inherently good and I also believe that the role of parenting is an opportunity to better yourself.

In so many ways I have improved mine and other’s lives because I’ve had this opportunity.

I’m not nearly finished and pray I never will be.

The kids are alright – April 2009

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The Rooster Crows

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A lot of cackling and crowing near 5ish.  I typically love it.  This morning my head is migraine-y and so I’m not as happy about not being able to fall back to sleep.

I walk downstairs with a spill of dogs underfoot.  I feel like I’m caught in a sluice-way when I wake up and imagine that someday when I’m less nimble, I’ll end up in a heap with several pairs of soulful eyes imploring me to arise and get them some breakfast.  I automatically open the front door and we pour out onto the porch where we collect metal dishes, back inside to be greeted by baa-ing and then to the bin to scoop food into 3 bowls.  Meanwhile, 3 cats alight onto the counter, inviting me to throw a little kibble their way.  Back out onto the porch we go, doing the breakfast dance and I slip back into the house for a minor triumph of “6 down, so many more to go.”  I then warm up some goat’s milk in a pan and funnel it into a bottle for Aisling, the bottle lamb.  She delicately skitters about, occasionally bleating, until I lean to serve her a warm and yummy morning brew.

I try to put the kettle on for my own cuppa in and around this.  By the time I’ve made a bottle, the water is boiling and I let my morning tea steep.

I’ve got this down in 10 minutes or less.  The rest of the chores take me an hour or more, depending on the to-do list, and then I’m ready to start the day.

Happy Saturday, folks!

Ginny & Aisling discussing their morning plans

Arranged marriages

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My friend Abi, over at Red Comb Vintage, has just gotten a shipment of chicks to replenish her layer flock this year.  In the box was also a “free exotic rooster” whom she named “Joey Ramone” and he happens to be a White Crested Black Polish, just like my Josephine and Francesca!

Joey Ramone

My neighbor Megan, and I had just been talking about going in together on an order of Polish chickens because she has been wishing for a few in her flock.  I have my two, but I would enjoy a few more also.

Josephine

Francesca

Ta-da!  Brainstorm!  I contacted Abi and asked if Ramone was promised to anyone yet and she said he was available.  I contacted Megan and asked her if she thought she’d like to give hatching out our own Polish Crested chicks a go.  She was game.

Josephine or Francesca are engaged!!!!!!!

So we’re going to the chapel with Joey Ramone and one or the other as soon as he’s man enough. That’s when we’ll know, also, whether he is a bantam or standard sized rooster.  He’s only 5 days old, or so, and I think that he has to be 7-9 months old before he can breed.

Today I thought about measuring for little chicken-chastity belts and putting the step-sisters in a safehold to keep them secure until the wedding; I’ll probably nix that idea because they’re pretty sweet free-ranging chicks and I really don’t want to cramp their lifestyle.  Meanwhile, Abi will watch out for J.R. with care because she’s had more than her fair share of fox-related chicken losses at her farm.

A WEDDING!  It’s going to be wonderful!  I’ve been finding all sorts of gorgeous feather-inspired ideas for announcements, centerpieces, outfits, bouquets…  The internet is a real treasure trove and if one has a Pinterest account, one can run amuck gathering inspiration for chicken nuptials.  I’m absolutely gaga over this notion.  In my mind I’ve got “J’s” or “J’s” & “F’s” embroidered on their pillows, curtains for their private coop, a lovely wreath for their front door…not to mention the music selection for the wedding, the location(backyard barnyard, no?), the guest list, the decorations, the food!

I talked Char’s ear off on the way to school this morning.  She thinks I’ve finally gone over the deep end and I could see the look in her eyes, the wheels turning upstairs that said “She’s finally lost it!”

I’m turning into mother-of-the-bridezilla and it’s been less than 12 hours since we “hatched” the idea.

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Good Shepherd Sunday

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John 10:14-15

 14 ”I am the good shepherd. I know my sheep, and my sheep know me. 15 They know me just as the Father knows me and I know the Father. And I give my life for the sheep.

Yesterday, in fact this past week, I was painfully unaware that today is Good Shepherd Sunday on the Christian calendar.  The 4th Sunday of Eastertide.  And I was responsible for the children’s sermon at my church this morning.  And I was going to talk about sunflower seeds…

Hello?!?!  Something else was right under my nose, actually prancing around my legs as I type, sort of tippy-toeing around the kitchen wondering where her bottle is…something that “baa’s!”  

So I changed my plan for the kids at church.

Now how, I wonder, did I not realize this before this morning?  Was someone trying to pull the wool over my eyes?  Honestly?  The Parable of the Sower is NOT the Good Shepherd story.  Hmmmm….

Instead, the children got the John 10:11 -18 Good Shepherd message and they got the lamb, too.

Psalm 23
The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; he leads me beside still waters; he restores my soul. He leads me in right paths for his name’s sake. Even though I walk through the darkest valley, I fear no evil; for you are with me; your rod and your staff— they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord my whole life long.

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Saturday all-sorts

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some of the Bennington Children's Chorus members complete their day-long workshop with a porch performance

It is quite safe to say that every day is different around here.

This morning I sprang out of bed and dove into cleaning my house to ready it for a chorus workshop that was being held here for most of the day.  Char & I had de-cluttered the evening before and so my objective was to do a vacuum/mop/surface swipe all ’round before heading out for chores.

This house-cleaning thing?  It’s big news, trust me.

Saturday happy chickens, Saturday happy dogs

The big farm project for the day was completing the goat fencing adjacent to the horse pasture so that we’d have a place that the goatsies could graze/browse without destroying my flowering and fruiting bushes, which is what they had been intent on for the last few weeks.  Here is where I have to confess that I hardly helped at all.  Jim did most of the work, with a little help from friend Tristan the other night, and I probably contributed 15- 30 minutes of labor altogether.

Tristan holds the post in place while Jim lowers the bucket to drive it through our very clay-y and rocky soil.

Yay! Our very own playground! Complete with horse-buddies, brambles, browse and bushes! Also complete with two strands of electrified fencing!

The wonderful choristers left by 4p.m., I delivered some eggs and chicken as a donation for a local benefit silent auction, and then I prepared a delicious Pastitsio recipe that a friend of mine had prepared and shared via Facebook the other night.

Ground lamb, simmering with red wine, tomato paste, shallots and a little garlic

6 tablespoons of melted butter

whisk in 1/2 cup of flour

after the flour and butter are whisked into a smooth roux, add 3 cups of milk in a slow stream and whisk

whisk over medium heat

add 1/8 teaspoon Cayenne when thickened

add 1/4 cup of Parmesan(but I added about 3/4 cup!)

stir in Parmesan to thickened, seasoned sauce

add prepared pasta to ground lamb mixture

pour into prepared casserole, red wine(for me) and baby bottle of goat's milk(for the living lamb in the house) are optional

pour the Parmesian Bechamel over the top of the casserole and bake, uncovered, at 375 for 35 minutes

feed the lamb her bottle while you're baking the Pastitsio(no one tell her what's in the oven, o.k.?)

Remove from oven when top is browned

Pastitsio, and it was nostimos!

I’m really looking forward to a little quiet time tonight.  Tomorrow morning I’m delivering the children’s sermon and the scripture passage is Matthew 13:1-9, the Parable of the Sower. I will say that you can over-think a children’s sermon and I struggle with this sometimes.  I originally thought I would share the message that the destination of the seed would have to be conducive to growth, thereby the weeds, the stones would not help.  Then I started to think that really, I’d like to tell the kiddoes that if we don’t start with the right seed, the Good seed, then we can’t have growth either.  So I think I’m going to share sunflower seeds with them that are good for sowing, and sunflower seeds that are not so good(as in, the ones that have been shelled, salted and are ready for eating!)  Because I think it’s kind of a huge thing to try to absorb every week, if you’re a little kid(or a big kid!), that you’ve got to be so good, so perfect, such a perfect bed of soil, for the seed to sprout and grow.  I remember being overwhelmed and anxious by the challenge of being so good when I was young.  And though I aspired to goodness, and still do, in life we make mistakes.

So for all of those mistakes, we can try again, we can be forgiven.  And if it’s the right seed we’re cultivating, I believe it will indeed grow.

Happy Saturday to you.

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