One of my favorite memories from my childhood was a little silver cardboard box that my Mamaw and Papaw kept on top of their vast collection of encyclopedias. Inside the little box was a luna moth which Mamaw had set inside. I must have asked them to get down that box a million times. I remember the poor moth got so old finally that its wings deteriorated to the point that they just turned clear and finally, after years, my grandparents threw it away. So, to see a Luna moth always brings me to a very happy place in my own mind.
Luna moths emerge from cocoons which are on the ground, near the trees that the caterpillars feast on. They come out in the spring, do not eat at all, mate and die. This whole stage in their lives only lasts about a week. But, what a treat to find one! This big guy was on my kitchen window. Four days later, it was replaced by another, equally as beautiful, but a bit smaller.
I decided quickly after these pathetic attempts to capture bees in action that should one ever want to punish me for eternity, hand me a camera and tell me to go out and get some great photos of bees. I would probably turn into a sobbing, lifeless mess.
So, the other day it came time to feed the chickens. Since the kids were in the house, and you know how kids can find trouble in a split second, I ran out to the chicken coop as fast as possible. Unfortunately, some of the chickens ran out as I opened the coop door. Since I didn’t want them to run off and hide their eggs only-God-know-where I tried to round the rogue chickens all up to get them back in the coop.
The chickens didn’t care that I was in my fuzzy white robe, or that I was still in my pajamas or that there was a thunderstorm looming. They just continued to run circles around the coop despite my best attempts to catch them. They didn’t care that the neighbors probably thought I was some pajama-clad whack job chasing down chickens at 9 in the morning.
Finally, I cornered one. It was just me vs. chicken. We stared each other down for a few minutes as we both planned out our attack strategy. I leapt forward, scrambling in the most futile manner, trying to snag any part of a chicken with my hands. Chicken came straight at my face, wings a-blazing. My glasses went flying over my head. Let me just tell you that you never realize how blind you really are until your glasses get slapped off of your face in a split second. I froze, not wanting to smash my $300 pair of glasses (no matter if I got free frames, inevitably, my glasses would still cost $300 for whatever reason). Everything looked like a big brown blob as I gently patted the ground looking for my glasses. Bear in mind, the kids are alone in the house and a storm is approaching, and now it is starting to sprinkle and thunder. I curse the chicken with the best words I know how. It is probably the first time I have ever cursed at my poultry. I made a 3 foot radius with my hands….no glasses. I am suddenly struck with the thought of Velma on ScoobyDoo, screaming her famous line, “My glasses! Where are my glasses?!?” and I come to completely sympathize with poor Velma and that it most certainly is NOT funny, not even in the least bit. I feel terrible for ever making fun of Velma losing her glasses. It also occurs to me that it’s a darn good thing that the Mystery Gang didn’t pack heat, because if they had, Velma would have rained down a hailstorm of bullets on the monster as soon as she DID locate her glasses. Yes, it is THAT frustrating. Now I am nearly on the verge of tears, angry with my stupid genes for giving me this stupid, crappy vision and mad at the stupid hen for losing my stupid glasses. Then I remember I have an ancient pair in my car.
Shuffling so as not to crush my lost spectacles, I run to the car as I am now getting soaking wet in the rain and throw on my old pair. For those of you who have glasses, you will sympathize with me when I say it was like walking in the old Casa Magnetico house at Six Flags, or trying to walk after drinking a fifth of whiskey (I wouldn’t know personally, just a guess). I ran, sideways, back to the coop where shortly thereafter I found my dumb glasses, about 4 foot BEHIND where I had been standing in the initial assault.
Last Easter, the Easter Bunny brought us 2 baby bunnies. Their names are Bunny FooFoo and Widget. I wasn’t quite sure what FooFoo and Widget’s official ‘jobs’ would be around the farm as they are certainly too small for food purposes (how could one eat a dwarf bunny?). But, as it turns out, they are my Green Team in the garden. These bunnies power through weeds like nothing you’ve ever seen. Don’t believe me? Watch this:
Goodbye, crabgrass
Any weeds that I pull in the garden go to the Green Team, where they promptly turn it into “Brown Gold” for my garden. Now, how can you beat that arrangement???
You may have heard someone say that a turkey is so dumb it will drown itself in a rainstorm by holding its head up, watching the rain. You may have just heard someone say that a turkey is plain stupid. I am here to assure you that both statements were obviously said by someone who has never owned a turkey.
I bought my pair of Broad Breasted Bronze turkeys in March of ’09. They were supposed to be slaughtered at about 6 months of age. Well, that was the plan anyway. After so many excuses, it eventually just became a joke about killing (or the non-killing of) the turkeys. The truth was, we had grown pretty fond of the fat birds. They are amazingly dog-like, and would follow you just to plop down right in front of your feet and occasionally the golf cart while in motion. My hen would lay down in front of me and let us all pet her as long as we wished. Tom was more standoffish, that is, until you brought out the feed cup and he suddenly became your best friend, waddling as fast as he possibly could to try and snag some food. I had taught them how to drink from a chick waterer (using beer caps), how to eat (using Mardi Gras beads), and where to stay at night. We shared a year together, until today. Today I went out to the coop to find that Hen had prolapsed overnight. To spare you the grisly details, think: insides on your outsides. And, it was a complete mess. Broad Breasted turkeys are not bred for longetivity. They are bred to put on weight as fast as possible in the least amount of time. They are almost always propagated, if you will, by artificial insemination, as they are so heavy they can’t ‘do it’ naturally. Tom had already had leg trouble, but seemed to have gotten over it for the most part. But now, here was a problem that definitely couldn’t be fixed, nor ignored. I knew it was time to stop joking about killing the turkeys and time to actually do it.
Tom last fall in the coop.
I have never butchered an animal, ever. But, keeping with my pioneer spirit, I knew that today would be THE DAY. Trust me, I wasn’t excited about it.
So, after lunch, I got my filet knife, Jason got his .22 and we got Hen from the coop. I wasn’t as sad as I thought I would be because I knew she was in pain. Jason shot her and let me tell you that a bird still moves around…a LOT. In fact, to the point it is dangerous should you get too close. But we managed to rope the legs and we suspended her from a plank, much like you would suspend other large game. I did have to slit the neck (you let them ‘bleed out’), which was not quite as bad as I thought. After a few minutes, I plucked the feathers from the breast and inside of the legs as fast as I could (birds have a HUGE amount of feathers, by the way). Then, I took my knife and sliced the skin straight down the keel bone. Then I cut out the breast muscles. You would think this would be really bloody. It is not. It is actually a very clean process. I also skinned the drumstick (huge) and took them off of the bird via some shears. All in all, the whole process took about 15 minutes or so.
Then came Tom. Poor Tom had squooshed about 4 of my young hens in his lifetime with his sheer gargantuan breast, just by laying on them. Statistically speaking, Tom was deadlier to my chickens than the coyotes. I really, really hated to kill Tom, but he would be so lost without Hen. And, after all, I had bought them knowing that this would be the outcome. Still…
Yes, we repeated the process with Tom. Yes, I did cry, especially after my daughter said, “But, I LIKE Tom.” I ‘talked’ to him, for the last time, in my best ‘Turkey-ese” (I have gotten pretty good at imitating a turkey now), and I walked away because I couldn’t bear to see him get shot. And then he did, and then I repeated the whole butchering process over again, amidst several tears. And now, Tom and Hen are in my refrigerator awaiting some seasoning and their futures as sausage patties.
People may think, “But why would you do that? How could you do that?”. My best answer is this:
I want to know where my food comes from. This is why we made the decision to grow and process our own food. I know that Tom and Hen had great lives, far better than their Butterball cousins who are packed, by the thousands, in windowless, disgusting buildings. Tom and Hen knew what sunshine was, and fresh grass, and bugs, and what being loved by humans was like. Every time we eat a chicken or a cow or a turkey who was raised in some industrial hellhole, we are supporting that. For every McNugget your kids eat and every fast food burger that you eat, you are supporting that way of life. I have chosen not to support that any more. I loved Tom and Hen, but I knew what their future would be. I have no interest in becoming a full fledged vegetarian, so I choose to raise my own meat humanely until the end.
NOTE: This post was written 4 weeks ago, I am updating it today.
Well, by the sheer grace of God, my duck eggs made it all the way to their hatch day! I patiently waited till Christmas Day…no duck. Then I figured, well, I couldn’t QUITE remember what day I had begun to incubate the eggs under Henny Penny originally, so I could be off by a few days, plus the fact the eggs were chilled, could mean they may hatch even a few days later. Well, finally, by Sunday, the 27th, I had a pipped egg. This means that the chick has made a tiny hole in the egg and cracked the shell just a bit. It can take 24 hours and sometimes even a bit more before anything else happens, since at that point, the chick is now breathing outside air and is rapidly absorbing the last of the yolk while the blood vessels in the egg are shrinking and receding. So, I waited. And waited. And waited.
Nothing, but some peeping from Duck A from his shell. Then, at about 9:45am on the 28th, Duck B pipped his shell while I was watching. It was really cool! But, no progression from Duck A.
So, after 24 hours had passed (@ 8pm on the 28th), I decided to see what was going on with little Duck A. Turns out, he was a ‘breech’ duckling. There is a large air sac in the egg which a chick first enters before breaking the shell. In Duck A’s case, he was facing the wrong way, with his little head between his legs, so he could not penetrate the air sac. So, he was a stuck duck. I very carefully removed a bit of the shell as well as opened the underlying membranes until I saw a little blood. So, I stopped, and returned him to the incubator. It’s not uncommon for a malpositioned chick to die from simply not being able to break out of the shell. Now, Day 3.
By Day 3, Duck B was well progressing into his hatch. He had already broke a big chunk from his shell:
Duck B has now made a larger hole in his shell and is preparing to make his escape
Poor Duck A was making no progress at all, so I knew it was time to really help him out. I peeled off a lot of the shell, removed some of the white, tough membrane and then peeled back a little bit of the inner membrane. Then I covered it with a damp paper towel (to keep the humidity up) and set him back in the incubator. Not an hour passed and little Duck B began ‘zipping’ around his shell:
Duck B is almost out!!! Duck A is beside him still stuck, and wrapped in a paper towel.
Then, with a final push, Duck B made it out! He was jumping and flopping all over the place.
Duck A is very much stuck and in a backwards position in the shell.
It was sooooo exciting! There has to be a God…should you have any doubts about that, you need to incubate yourself some eggs…it is just amazing.
And now it is January 22nd. The ducks are now outside in the ‘big duck’ pen and are bigger than you could possibly even imagine. The adult ducks and especially the geese pretty much wish the babies would evaporate into thin air, but they’re getting along OK. Oh, I forgot…I bought 8 more baby ducks a week after my 2 little black ducks were born. So, ten little peepers! I love my ducks.
Arg, a whole week gone by already? And no new post from me? Sigh. My computer bummed out on me last Saturday and it’s on crutches now. Anyone want to donate a netbook? Lol. Well I am STILL not finished with my other mystery crafts, which I promise to reveal soon…maybe as soon as tomorrow if everything goes right!
In farm news, I ‘pulled’ my 2 fertile duck eggs from the chicken coop since ‘Henny’ the Silkie decided not to incubate them any longer. Duck eggs take 28 days to hatch, and chickens take 21 days, and I just think Henny got sick of waiting. So, I took them in on a cold morning, pretty sure the embryos were dead, but I stuck them in a makeshift incubator anyway. It took several hours to bring them back to a good temperature (about 101 degrees). Sure enough, the little ducks began twisting and turning in their eggs! I have to turn the eggs 3-4 times a day and mist them, and keep water trays in the little incubator full to keep the humidity up. As strange as it is, the eggshell is very porous and the embryo can lose too much water if the egg’s surroundings are too dry. It’s really surreal to look inside the egg (via a flashlight) and actually see blood vessels and a tiny little embryonic duck swimming around! Even more unbelievable is that I am actually keeping these little guys alive with the crudest incubator you could imagine. Well, it isn’t as bad as a cardboard box and a light, but we’re almost there. I’ll post a pic soon. Anyway, one eggs is slated to hatch Christmas Day and the other will be the 27th, which is that Sunday.
Well, it’s December 4th, and we’re finally, officially going to have our first ‘hard’ freeze around here. Goodbye Brandywine tomatoes. Goodbye my Romas and Sweet Cherry 100s who are still producing. Bye, bye big, lush basil. Ugh.
I was going to name this post “Check out my Hooters”, but I haven’t gotten pictures of them yet. Stay tuned for the madness and mayhem. Just kidding. Well, about the madness and mayhem, anyway.
In farmhouse news, I’m ripping apart the interior of ye olde farmhouse and re-arranging things more to my liking. Now that we’ve been here over a year, I know what I’ll use and where it serves me best. So, I’ve been “Martha”-ing it up all day today and I only got to 3 rooms. Oh well. Feels good to get rid of clutter. Sorry I don’t have current pics, but my camera is dead today. I re-re-arranged the pantry, making a ‘maid’s’ corner (yes, that is me). I love it! Will get photos soon.
In farm news, today I lost my last female duck. I let her out this morning, and by midday, she was gone. Just disappeared. I am almost certain it was a hawk, and well….I’m pretty pissed about it. I LOVE duck eggs to bake with. Sigh. But, here’s some pretty happy news…I took 2 of her eggs and put them underneath a setting hen, and both are developing! Funny thing: I just was researching this phenomenon (chickens hatching duck eggs) and I found this quote: ” One good breed of chicken to consider to hatch your ducks is called the Silkie.” Well, that’s exactly what I’m doing! I have my fingers crossed that they’ll hatch into two beautiful little females. I will keep you updated on that. At any rate, this spring, I will be adding some more female ducks to the farm as well as female geese. Did you know that ducks are actually as efficient, if not more so, at laying eggs than chickens? The eggs are also much richer. Because my ducks do not eat funky stuff in a pond, their eggs do not have any weird, off flavors. Anyway, I’m down to 2 geese and Mr. Duck.
Well, time to go sit in front of my fireplace, finish my coffee and work on some crafts! Hooters coming soon!
Afterthought: I want to add some pics I snapped of the Christmas tree in our kitchen! Enjoy!
An ornament for my Mamaw and Papaw circa 1978A Vintage Japanese Skating Santa with a....skirt???A vintage Japanese snowman ornament. Isn't he so cute?A vintage Japanese angel ornament, playing her harp
Lately, we have been having ‘problems’ with our goats. Oh, they’re perfectly healthy and robust, but unfortunately, they all seem to suffer from some sort of co-dependent paranoia/eating disorder that if I do not come and feed them every 10 minutes, they are at the fence (unfortunately which can be seen through my back door) and scream at the top of their goat lungs. An incessant, “BAAAAAAAA, BAAAAAAAA, BAAAAAAAA” from early morning to nightfall. It is to the point that my husband is ready to gut and clean every goat and have a giant, citywide barbeque. So much for the peace and quiet of the country. We currently have eight goats; I am trying to get that to two or three to quiet the decibel level of “Baa”. Oh, they have full access to about 12 acres of brushy, goat-friendly goodness, but they’d rather take a hand-out. Reminds me of some of the people in this great nation. Anyway, maybe that’s why I find it doubly irritating. I don’t know. I did just look and the goats were all where they are SUPPOSED to be, which is in the woods. Maybe they will learn, yet. We shall see.
In farm life, yesterday, we had a couple of ‘our guys’ come and help us burn dead wood out in the goat pen, clean out the goat pen and apply it to my garden, and haul bricks to our pathway we are constructing in front of our house. It was really great to have 4 extra hands! I found one of my up and coming Rhode Island Red hens with her rear end virtually pecked to a bloody mess (ah, the fun you can have with chickens) so, I had to put her in a separate cage, clean and medicate her chicken bootie, and see how she does. She’s a lot better this morning. If you didn’t know it already, chickens will ruthlessly peck most anything that is red, blood especially, to the point they will kill a fellow chicken. It can be extremely annoying and frustrating. That’s why many chicken brooder lights are red, so that they cannot distinguish one red area from another. So, I’ll have to turn back on the red light, I guess. Oh well. They are almost ready to put out with the big guys.
So, screaming goats and doctoring chicken booties aside, yesterday was a really good, productive day!
“We can see a thousand miracles around us every day. What is more supernatural than an egg yolk turning into a chicken?” – S. Parkes Cadman
The other night we came home just after dark, and drove up to the chicken coop to lock up the chickens. I noticed that there were only 3 chickens in the coop, which was really unusual, since chickens always return to their roost at night. So, I went into the pen and they were all crammed into the corner closest to their little doorway into their coop. The little door was closed, so they couldn’t get int0 their coop. Chickens, not being the absolute brightest sometimes, will all huddle together in a big ball when they are scared or, as in our situation, they wanted to roost and had nowhere to go. Unfortuately, in both situations, it is not uncommon for them to crush one another (think: people crushing one another in those soccer matches overseas. I guess people aren’t too bright, either) Well, after I dispersed the pile, I found Dot, my daughter’s absolute favorite Bantam hen lifeless on the ground. I attempted a feeble try at chicken resuscitation, no mouth to mouth, mind you, but she was already gone. I did not tell our daughter that the turkeys likely crushed little Dot for fear that she would hate the turkeys, so the next day she assumed (as she does with all the animals that are not seen again) that ‘the coyotes’ had nabbed Dot. So, of course, Dot had to be replaced by another ‘banty’.
We went to Atwood’s and, lo and behold, all of the baby chicks are now on clearance. My daughter immediately picked out the chick that I had my eye on, which was a tan and black spotted little number, with fully feathered legs. But, the most eye-catching thing about his appearance was that his bottom beak was at a 45 degree angle to his top beak. The chicks were already a couple of weeks old, so it was apparent to me after checking out “Stanley’s” body condition, that even though he was a disabled chicken, he was doing just fine. Yes, a disabled chicken. So, as we were looking at the other chicks, another family (and I use that term loosely here) came by with about 3 kids and another on the way, and the smallest girl, who looked about two, wanted to touch the tiniest Bantam, whereupon her mother’s boyfriend/new husband/whatever told her, “No, you don’t want the runt.” First of all, it isn’t as though they were buying chicks, they were just looking. Second of all, it isn’t like being a runt is contagious, and thirdly, they were Bantam chicks, anyway! (that means miniature chicken, essentially)
Naturally, I picked up the “runt” and I bought it, too, to save it from being the target of some other redneck’s comments. Then, I picked up a baby chick for the little girl, who I was pitying at that moment, having to deal with a mother that was running around with an angry-looking redneck boyfriend who took every chance he got to make snappy comments at her, and she pet the chick ever so gently. (That woman really needs to listen to Dr. Laura) So, then I picked out 3 more chicks that I am almost certain are Frizzles, and we left.
My husband came home singing a song (we are always singing dumb, made-up songs) with some lyrics about, “Well, we went to get two, and we came home with five…”. Oh, well.
In farm life, we worked on the brick path yesterday, despite being 90 degrees with 400% humidity. The weather has been so wacky lately, I’m surprised we haven’t yet been slammed with a tornado yet. Today is hot, tonight will be cooler, tomorrow will be hotter, but then the next day we’re having a major cold front. Go figure. Anyway, we have completed enough of the path that it is now coming around the front of the house and we have gotten rid of two pallets of bricks that have been sitting in my front yard for about a year. Yippee! When Jason moved the last pallet, he found a snake for me, so of course I had to go outside and pick it up! It looked like a Rough Earth snake to me, but I am not 100% sure on that. But what I am positive about is that it wasn’t poisonous. I don’t ‘do’ poisonous snakes.
My Little Country 
