Usually life here on the farm is peaceful, calm and serene. Everywhere you look chicks frolic around softly clucking mother hens, ducks bumble along on their quest for juicy slugs and other delicacies, and goats chew their cud in the sun while contemplating deep thoughts. Other days, not so much. Chickens scatter in a burst of feathers as a frothing Farm Mama chases Daisy goat out of the orchard with a stick, only to turn around and find little Leo crammed into Harvey’s upper bedroom, snacking out of his food tray. We never had a fence-testing goat until we got Daisy, and she’s driving me nuts to the extent I actually posted an ad for her on Craigslist while in a decimated-cherry-tree-driven rage. No matter how many times Gene reinforces the fence, she finds a spot where she can climb something and jump over it. If she keeps it up, I’m going to find out why the contestants on Top Chef always choose goat first.

In calmer news, King Kamehameha and Pele are quickly feathering out. As soon as the nights start getting warmer, I think I’m going to move them out into Christmas’s chalet. I’m hoping to avoid the month-long period of agoraphobia that seems to accompany moving out of the garage brooding box. The batch of chicks from Wilco, although nearly full grown, still hesitate to come outside the coop to explore the big wide world. (Perhaps they’re afraid of the crazy goat-chasing woman with the stick?) They didn’t even venture out for watermelon treats on the day it got to 86 degrees here. But another reason to move King Kamehameha is that he loves to roam. All over the garage. Then he gets annoyed that he’s not in his comfy, warm, food-containing box and starts to pitch a fit. For those of you lucky enough to have had the pleasure of trying to stumble your way through our way too-packed-garage, you can imagine how much fun it is to look for a tiny turkey.

Speaking of way too packed structures, I really, really need it to be June weather now. My greenhouse has been taken over by cucumber and squash tendrils. The plants got so big I was forced to repot and trellis them, just to take advantage of the vertical space, but by giving them more dirt I gave them an excuse to have a growth explosion. I have a cucumber that’s ready to be harvested, and my one-ton pumpking has set a fruit! I also have baby ground cherries and tomatillos already, and what I think is a zucchini but I can’t get close enough to check.

The one thing I forgot to plant this year was lettuce, so I have to keep buying prepared salad bags for Harvey and Cinnabun. They have grown accustomed to a certain level of culinary excellence, and god forbid I run out of Wheat Thins. Now that they are free to mingle, I find them cuddled up in various spots around the back yard. Cinnabun has gotten over her terror of the great outdoors, and now follows Harvey along his various bunny trails. They both come bounding back when I shake the cracker box, and stand up with their paws pressed just above my knee until they get a treat. If Cinnabun gets much bigger, they’re going to be able to push me over.

Sadly, I went outside to do chores two days ago and found that Christmas had transitioned to the Great Farm in the Sky. She was the happiest of the happy turkeys, and not many of her brethren live to the ripe old age of almost three. Since the sight of the empty chalet was breaking my heart on a continual basis, Gene agreed to let me get two new turkeys. Within five minutes of his proclamation, I was headed to the feed store. I decided to get Royal Palm turkeys this time around, for a more ornamental, smaller bird. After 20 minutes of watching the little chicks bustling around their pen, I picked two which I hope are male and female. King Kamehameha and Pele are now happily ensconced in the garage brooding box. They’re in that horribly awkward phase where their necks are too long and they have glittering reptilian eyes, but I think they’re adorable.

In other chick news, the three broody mamas are all proving to be excellent mothers. We now have a total of 19 chicks happily cavorting around the yard, snapping at butterflies and slurping down worms. Gene had to install more roosting bars in the chicken coop in anticipation of the additional feathered butts, and we also had to move the newest chickens out of the garage and into the big coop. The transition went great, with the exception of the Blue Polish hen, whom I’ve creatively dubbed Blue Mama. Blue Mama has a huge ornamental poof of feathers on her head that apparently inhibits her eyesight. Every night I’ve had to go on the Blue Mama Scavenger Hunt to see where she decided to bed down for the night. I’m thinking she can’t see well enough to find her way back to the coop. So far I’ve been lucky in that she doesn’t stray too far and I can usually find her within 30 minutes. I think I’m going to have to give her a feather cut, or gather them up on top of her head with one of those ridiculous baby bows.

Speaking of babies, Harvey and Cinnabun accelerated their long-anticipated play date when Harvey managed to free her from her cage. I walked outside to find Harvey happily living up to his Bunny Ranch reputation, and ever since then they’ve been inseparable. Watching them cuddle is the cutest thing ever, since they’re both so huge. They even had a Lady & the Tramp moment tonight when they shared a Wheat Thin. Needless to say, in about 28 days, Gene’s going to be a grandpa.

Sorry it’s been a month since my last post, but I’ve been spending every available moment outside celebrating the fact that this is the first spring in two years I haven’t been in a cast! Now that the sun has come out, poor Gene’s to-do list has exploded with new projects so he’s been spending all his days off outside with me. He built a series of raised beds that we lined the driveway with, and I’ve already planted raspberries, cauliflower, corn, broccoli, romanescu (the gourmet broccoli they always use on Top Chef, so naturally I had to have it), onions, shallots, garlic, and of course my 15-pound radishes. I’m actually kind of disappointed in those so far – I was hoping the radishes would have burst through their containers by now.

My greenhouse is completely filled to capacity, and I already have cucumbers and squashes starting to form! Since it’s starting to literally resemble a jungle in there, I decided to bring in some wildlife in the form of ladybugs and preying mantises. I was particularly excited about the mantises, because the package contained two intriguing egg-sac/cocoon things. I decided to name my two about-to-hatch new pets Christopher and Francis, since those were the first two Saint names I could come up with. And then I took a closer look at the package, which said each egg sac contained about 200 mantises. Gene said he is looking forward to the day when I run out of the greenhouse, screaming and covered in waving green insects.

Thank you, ScienceDaily, for a picture of what I DON’T have.

While my greenhouse jungle is by no means lacking in insects, it is sadly bereft of papayas. The nursery still hasn’t replaced my poor, sad, shriveled, DOA papaya plant, much to my great annoyance. Clearly the good folks at Burgess Nursery don’t realize that my blog has a worldwide following, and if I dog them online that one guy in Russia who showed up in my “pageviews” tracker will never order from them.

In critter news, I have 16 newly hatched chicks! Seven of them are being co-parented by experienced broody mamas, and they are currently residing in the back half of the goat shed. They are the pair that took up residence in the far corner of the goat’s bedroom, and by sheer luck their clutch of eggs didn’t get smooshed by Ursula’s ever-expanding girth. I didn’t want to take the chance with chicks, though, and once they started hatching they were relocated. Condi’s chicks also hatched today; she built her nest in a plastic tub in the foyer of the goat shed. I didn’t want to relocate her to the main coop, because another broody mama has taken up residence in the nesting boxes. Sadly, she can’t seem to remember which clutch of eggs is hers, so I came out this morning to three newly hatched chicks crying piteously for their mama while she was obliviously parked on two eggs one nesting box over. I pulled out my Chicken Protective Services badge and promptly removed the chicks from her custody. I gave them to Condi, who happily incorporated them into her brood. I decided that she needed a protective wall to shield her from the comings and goings of all the hens, since the goat shed is a coveted hang-out spot, especially when it’s windy out. It took me six hours, and lots of measuring, re-measuring, and swearing, but I finally built the most beautiful of frames to which I then stapled plastic mesh. When I surprised Gene with it, he agreed that it was a nice wall indeed, but added that it would have taken him five minutes and less screws to create. At any rate, all of the brand new mamas are happy. The co-parents took their chicks out into their first chaperoned visit to the big wide world, and I was lucky enough to photograph one of the chicks catching her very first worm. The worm was longer than the chick, but somehow she made room.

The garage brooding box chicks are almost ready to go out into the big coop, finally. I discovered just yesterday that my Polish Crested chick is a rooster, so apparently they only come in male. Sadly Sean Paul, the watch-your-back-cuz-he’ll-impale-your-legs Polish Crested rooster, passed last week. He’s now attacking the angels when they aren’t looking at the Big Farm in the Sky. My new rooster seems to be following his legacy, because he attacks my hand whenever I reach into change their water or refill the feeders. On the plus side, my blue Polish Crested chick hasn’t crowed at me yet, so I still have hope for an agreeable hen.

Little Leonidas, Daisy’s kid, is getting bigger at an exorbitant rate. He’s all legs and ears with a little bitty head. To date, his favorite game is trying to stand on Ursula while she does her best to shake him off. In his defense, she is definitely wide enough to park your drink on. He also loves his Uncle Shy, and watching the two of them take a nap in the sunshine is the cutest thing ever.

Ever since I ordered my papaya tree way back in frosty, icy January, I’ve been looking forward to this day with an ever-increasing amount of impatience. When I was placing the order, I figured the delivery would necessitate, at a minimum, two burly men, a truck, and some sort of forklift to get my papaya tree situated in its new home. Imagine my disappointment when I made the daily trek to the post office, only to be presented with a smallish green plastic package, so light I could carry it with one hand. When I got home and opened it, I discovered that reality refused to meet my dreams even halfway as I unpacked the saddest, wiltiest, most despondent two-inch papaya tree I’ve ever seen. Granted it’s also the first papaya tree I’ve ever seen, but still. The poor thing is so traumatized that even though its two leaves are still green, you can literally see through them. I had to check it into plant ICU, where it has its own room complete with a protective plastic bottle bubble and a splint made of shrimp skewers and a twist tie. I also called the company, who said they would send a replacement papaya, but only if I stopped crying.

Also included in what I’m now calling my Order of Crushed Dreams was the three-in-one citrus tree I was elated to stumble across back in January. I pictured a single grafted tree of Frankensteinian elegance, with a selection of lemons, limes, and oranges on every branch. But apparently by “3 in 1”, they meant three separate trees crammed into one pot. That’s the sort of thing I do by accident every time I plant seeds, not something they should advertise as a glorious hybrid citrus celebration. I briefly considered separating out the three trees into different pots, but then shrugged and decided to keep the citrus party going. With all my new acquisitions in pots, plus a few more “had to haves” I saw at the huge Wilco sale today, my greenhouse is officially at maximum capacity. It’s hard to tell from the photo, but along the right side pots are stacked three and four deep. In my infinite wisdom, I left the two plants with spikes on them along the aisle, so I get a pointy hello every time I turn around in there.

I discovered something else as I was unpacking the rest of it – ten asparagus plants that I’d completely forgotten I’d included in my order. Every time I’ve seen an asparagus for sale, I’ve thought, “Ooh, asparagus! I should try growing that!” and I’ll throw a package of it in my cart. Then forget about it. Times five. Now I have over thirty asparagus plants for which Gene is going to have to build a raised bed. Good thing we have over 12 yards of dirt to use! I just wish he actually liked asparagus.

If you want to see the real sign that spring has arrived, look no further than our driveway. Underneath the festive yet functional blue tarp, you’ll see a five-foot by six-foot pile of pure spring. This year’s pile of compost/dirt blend even had a bonus frog delivered with it! It doesn’t get more springlike than bonus frogs. We are going to make a new raised bed that runs the length of the driveway, and also build a few raised beds dedicated to berries. I can’t wait!

Some of the dirt is destined for the backyard garden as well. The cover crop that Gene planted a few months ago has sprouted, and it got tall enough that I decided it was the perfect spot for Cinnabun’s first introduction to the big wide world outside the Bunny Ranch. Instead of grazing, she hopped about frantically, staring up at the sky like she was worried about falling off the ground. After about ten minutes or so, she started panting, so Gene put her back. Harvey was fussy during his first trip outside, too, so her reaction was expected. After a few more field trips, she’ll be happily cavorting right next to him.

Our resident outdoor chick has finally gotten over her agoraphobia, and loves to hang out in the garden. She’s been adopted by both the blue cochins, and it’s absolutely adorable to watch them mothering her at the same time. The three are inseparable, and cram into the same nesting box at night to sleep. I’ve never heard of that happening before, but the chick most definitely has two mamas.

Our newest mama, Daisy, is a happy goat. Now that she doesn’t look like a horned walrus anymore, she seems much more comfortable. Leo spends his days climbing on all the toys and tree branches, running over for the occasional milk break when the mood strikes him. We still close him off with his mama in the alpaca cabana at night, since he’s still firmly in the “Coyote Appetizer” weight class, but he loves being outside playing in the sunshine.

Little Leonidas made his appearance in the world around six am, and he couldn’t be cuter. He’s going to be a big goat, I think, judging by how long his legs are. Last night, I had a feeling Daisy was getting close because for the first time in the history of ever, she didn’t eat dinner. Since she normally inhales her grain, then spends the next thirty minutes trying to cram her head through the fence to get anything that dropped on the ground, I figured her lack of hunger was a sign from above of impending parenthood.

I worked most of last evening to make a few suitable nursery options, then spent the rest of the night shining a flashlight out the window every hour to monitor Daisy’s girth. I finally gave up after two am, took a nap, then got up a few hours later to check on her. I think I missed the event by about half an hour; she totally did it on purpose out of annoyance over the whole flashlight thing. She chose the cabana, which is the one nursery option without a door. After watching goats come flying out of it on the receiving end of ferocious headbutts, Abigail came down and helped me move a chain link panel with a gate over to block the entrance. After using bungy cords and concrete blocks to secure it, it looks sufficiently redneck. If I can find a way to incorporate a blue tarp of some sort, it will be perfect. Daisy seems much happier to have a place to herself, and there’s plenty of room for little Leo to romp and hop.

Leo’s not the only new addition this week; the chicks have arrived as well! Between caring for the chicks and starting all my seeds according to schedule, re-potting everything in the greenhouse into bigger containers, then spending an entire day shuffling pots around to make room for everything, I haven’t had time to post in awhile! I managed to buy 16 chicks before Gene cut me off, and I’m fostering 7 for Abigail as well. When I went to pick up the Frizzle chicks at Wilco, I found a tiny, tiny one that had been hiding underneath some of the bigger chicks. She is literally the size of an Easter Peep. The employee had already boxed up the 6 I had reserved, but I told her I would take the little one as well, since we have a vast stock of chick emergency products. Since the Wilco chicken department staff and I are on a first name basis, I got to take home Little Bit for free! She’s actually doing really well, although she’s definitely not growing at the same rate as the others. Gene often wakes up to find me spoon feeding her on the kitchen table, and once he walked in the bathroom to find me blow drying her butt after cleaning poo off her feathers. Nothing surprises him anymore, he just made a comment about how he didn’t realize we’d added a chicken spa.

In addition to planting time, harvesting time, and canning time, March is my favorite time of the year because that’s when all the feed stores start getting in their chicks. Most of them already have their brooders set up and ready to go, just waiting to be populated by cheeping balls of fuzz. On March 1st I can pick up my first of four batches of chicks! In preparation for the new wave, I evicted garage broody mama and relocated greenhouse broody mama to the garage brooding box. Garage broody mama is happily teaching her chicks to hunt bugs and other tasty treats in the grass, while the new garage broody mama is supremely annoyed to find herself outside of her tropical environment. I had to move her, though, because she and her chick were jumping up in to the pots and scratching up all the avocado tree roots. She only has to put up with the garage for another day though, because come March, she’s going to the shed with the other broody mama. I figured the shed is the best bet, because there’s a door to separate the two mamas. The coop already has four broodies in residence, one in each of the nesting boxes that Gene built. I’ve taken to calling it the Broody Cube, since it’s basically a box of broodies now. Since more chicks is the last thing we need right now, I went and bought fake eggs at Wilco. It seems kind of mean, but it keeps the broodies occupied and happy, even though they’re incubating a piece of wood. With my luck, they’ll figure out a way to make it hatch.

Speaking of hatching, Daisy Mae looks like she’s ready to pop. Since her previous owner couldn’t remember exactly when in September she’d gotten her “play date”, we figure she’s due any day now. I think it will be sooner rather than later, because she just started walking with a pregnant waddle. Thanks to Buttercup and Ariel, I know exactly what to look for, and once I see the telltale signs we will confine her to the alpaca cabana so she has a nice clean and dry nursery for her little one. I really hope it’s a girl, since boy goats are stinky and eventually go live the happy bachelor life at Abigail’s.

Not only will spring bring a baby goat, but it will also mark the time when Harvey and Cinnabun will be allowed to snuggle all they want. Harvey can’t wait, because he gets grumpy on the rainy days when I have to lock him in his area in order to let Cinnabun get a chance to roam. At four months, she’s almost as big as he is at two years, so she’s going to be a bunny of significant size. She can mow through a bag of salad, a whole carrot, and half an apple at an impressive rate, and that’s not even counting her growing addiction to Wheat Thins. They spend each night cuddled up together, with a thin wall of chicken wire separating them. I’ve noticed that Harvey no longer goes on his all-night benders; he comes hopping happily home at dusk as I’m dispensing the evening meal. He takes great delight in rampaging right through the flock of chickens gathered in front of the coop for their evening ration of scratch, sending them flapping and squawking in all directions.

In garden news, once again I got screwed by the weather – the very morning after I put the shallots into the ground, I woke up to see frost on the ground and ice in the waterers. I planted the carrot and radish seeds outdoors according to my Farmer’s Almanac schedule, but nothing has sprouted yet. My indoor and greenhouse seeds are faring much better – my 15 pound radish seeds are now thriving seedlings, and my tomato and pepper plants are quite happy. This week I’m also starting my cucumber, melon, and pumpkin seeds, so Gene is running out of time to figure out where our one-ton monster pumpkin is going to live.

Today started out as most days do; I got up with the sun to feed hungry critters and unleash the chickens and ducks upon the backyard. As I was filling feeders and dispensing morning pets, my chores were disturbed by a loud racket coming from the vicinity of the heat pump. (I had to ask Gene what it’s called, since I usually refer to it as the big ugly box with the fan that runs the AC). Since we’d paid it off mere months ago, I figured now was the time it would decide to break down in some spectacular and expensive fashion, so I called out a service tech. Of course, the noise stopped once the tech got here, and no matter what he did he couldn’t convince the machine to make the noise again. He kept asking all sorts of pesky questions, like “What exactly did it sound like?” to which I would reply, “It sounded like the exact opposite of how it sounds right now.” It was really difficult to concentrate on what he was saying, because out of the corner of my eye I could see Sean Paul repeatedly trying to ambush him. I ended up having to stand out there for two hours, lest the poor tech be on the receiving end of some rooster beat down. I didn’t want to alarm the guy by warning him about the attack rooster, since he would either decide to leave before fixing the problem or start to draft his chicken-injury lawsuit in his head. I just hovered in the background while he worked, discretely tossing oats and other delicious snacks in Sean Paul’s general direction to keep him distracted. I’m pretty sure the service tech made a note in my file that I’m nuts.

Sean Paul has been an absolute beast lately. He, King Julian, and Rutger are still having their battle for alpha status, and to make matters worse, the chick with the back injury has also grown into a rooster. Sinbad found his crow two days ago, and it is the worst crow ever. It sounds like what would emit from a backed up garbage disposal. The first time I heard him do it, I ran over to him because I thought he was about to hack up a furball. Anyway, with so much rooster testosterone dousing the backyard, Sean Paul has been a bit on the grumpy side. I was quite proud of myself yesterday when I bent over to scoop out the last of the cracked grain for their morning snack, and he launched himself at my face. I calmly lifted the garbage can lin I was holding and wielded it gladiator style, knocking him right out of the air. I was proud of myself right up to the point when I started dancing around him to celebrate my dominance and he attached himself to my leg.

All the brief sunshine breaks we’ve been having this week are more than enough to make the goats go absolutely nuts with the spring crazies. When I came home today, I saw them romping all over the tire toys, chasing each other and jumping straight up in the air. Then I noticed they’d also managed to knock over a water bucket and their hay feeder. Daisy has made friends with everyone, particularly Shy, and the two of them spend most evenings cuddling and watching the rain fall from underneath their porch. Daisy has also proven herself to be an enormous treat hog; she can ram her herd buddies away from the trough like you wouldn’t believe. It looks she’s bowling for goats and celebrating her strikes. She can even send Ursula flying, who’s built like a fierce little bulldog. I let her get away with a lot since she’s pregnant and needs treats for two, but after having the baby she’s going to need to learn some manners.

Speaking of manners and not having any, my continuing power struggle with Sean Paul has amped up. Unfortunately, so far he’s proving he wears the pants in our relationship. Maybe he feels the need to assert himself in front of his son, Rutger, now that Rutger has started trying to amass a harem of his own. Whatever the reason, I find myself having to actively hide behind King Julian. That’s the only time Sean Paul won’t try to climb up my legs the instant my back is turned. He’s sneaky, too. He’ll try to slink up behind me with his best, “I’m not doing anything suspicious, nope, not at all” look, and I’ll whip around in time to find him crouched down preparing to launch. I’ve completely gotten over the embarrassment of finding myself engaged in long conversations with him, because he cocks his head to the side like he’s actually listening to me. Or calculating his trajectory, one of the two. Usually I tell him that I’m going to start playing my favorite game called Boot Da Rooster. Most of our chats end with me walking backwards at a frantic pace, trying to spot where King Julian is so that he can partake in his favorite game of Knock Sean Paul Outta the Air.

I’m hoping that we get all hens out of our latest crop of chicks. I don’t think I can deal with any more roosters. So far all the Broody Mamas are doing great raising chicks in their respective lairs, although I think the greenhouse Broody Mama has it best. Parking her cubby in the greenhouse was the best I could do on short notice, since the garage broody and the coop broody are really aggressive. The hen in the greenhouse is pretty passive, and I didn’t want any of the other chickens to kill her chick, thus the tropical environment she currently finds herself in. I’m going to have to serve the garage broody with her eviction papers at the end of the month, since she’s been in there for a long time. And because I found out you can reserve chicks the last time I went to Wilco. Naturally my name pops up all over their inventory lists now. I’m particularly excited because they’re getting in Frizzles! I’ve been looking for frizzled chickens for about three years, so I can’t wait. The name refers to the fact that their feathers are corkscrewed instead of straight, so it basically looks like they pecked at a power outlet. It’s not a breed, it’s a genetic mutation, so any type of chicken can be frizzled. Think of the photo ops!

A few scant days ago, I was watching a cooking show and wishing I had my own fresh cheese to use. Now, thanks to Abigail’s craigslist addiction, we have a milking goat! Gene didn’t even bat an eye when I told him we needed to add a milker to our collection, he just sighed and asked when and where. We trekked out to Bainbridge Island yesterday, and came home with Daisy! Her owner said she was bred in late September, so if she’s pregnant she should kid at the end of the month, and then I can start my cheese project!

Daisy fit right in with a minimum of fuss; Shy was the first to officially greet her with a nose bump, then she toured the facilities. She particularly likes climbing on the deadfall in the back of the pasture. Oddly enough, the only one to start a headbutting war with her was Ursula. I think that’s because Daisy tried to nap in Ursula’s favorite stall corner, though.

Daisy wasn’t the only introducing herself this week, though. After walking outside and seeing Harvey cavorting by the rose garden, I figured it was a good time to clean out little Cinnabun’s room in the Bunny Ranch. Actually, I shouldn’t call her little any more – she’s catching up with Harvey remarkably quickly. I distracted her with an apple treat, then mucked out her area. I turned my back for less than a minute to grab the pine shavings, and I heard an obnoxious cry of “Heeeeeey, baby!” I turned around just in time to see Harvey, who had appeared out of thin air, jump up into her room and introduce himself in a most socially unacceptable way. Granted I’m not the most observant tool in the shed (in fact, when I tell most people I used to be a detective, they think I’m telling a joke) but I can’t believe a 40-pound bunny snuck up on me like that. I also can’t believe he can heave his bulk three feet straight up in the air. Apparently all those Wheat Thins gave him super powers. He was mightily disgruntled when I interrupted his fun, but he’s got to wait another two months at least before Cinnabun’s old enough to date. And he’s got to buy her dinner first.