Feeding time here at the zoo has become a well-orchestrated task. Since everybody prefers everyone else’s particular type of food, when I open the gate armed with my pink food scoops hilarity ensues. Followed quickly by howling, pecking, and head-butting. I feed the goats first; they get a large scoop of goat chow sprinkled with poultry pellets. The pellets, which the goats love, distract them long enough for me to open the door to the turkey kennel and fill their bowl. Now that the fancy chickens are living in the A-frame, I have to quickly put the metal grate over their door to keep the turkeys out. Sometimes Fiona will abandon her bowl to the ducks and come charging over to try and steal the turkey food, so I have to slam the kennel door, then usher the turkeys in one at a time. Tonight I slammed the door, and Fiona went back to battling the ducks for a spot at the trough. I went back to securing the fancy chickens, and when I turned around Thanksgiving was standing in front of the door, staring at his food dish disconsolately. He looked like a fat kid that got to the candy store five minutes after they closed. I opened the door for him, and of course he waddled to the wrong side, getting himself stuck between the open door and the kennel fence. Because A) he’s not the sharpest tool in the shed and B) he’s so fat moving any way but forward is difficult for him, he was stuck having to make what turned into a 39-point turn. Keep in mind that by now it’s dark, it’s raining, and I have a new cast which makes my right arm totally unusable,  so by now mama’s a little on the cranky side. I tried to help Thanksgiving by turning him to face the right direction, and he rewarded me by taking a huge chomp out of my leg. Lucky for him I’m still on pain meds, or a particular holiday might have been celebrated tonight.

It seems like all the animals know I’m not bringing my A-game right now, as it were, because they’ve been respecting my authority even less than usual. I feel like the slow, medicated, sporting-a-cast wildebeest being singled out by hyenas. Even Harvey bit me the other day! I think that’s because he was racing to beat Claire to a carrot though, and not spurred by any viciousness on his part. I hope. Because they’re going to get too big to be all bitey like that.

Speaking of viciousness, I noticed two of the ducks, Paris and Nikki, fighting over some delicious tidbit Paris found. Nikki won, and when she ran past me, I was horrified to see it was a frog. I love frogs. I’ve gone out of my way to make our property frog friendly, and I had no idea ducks ate them. It was like a train wreck though – I watched her swing it around in her bill till she finally crammed it all in, except for one frantically waving webbed hand. It was disconcerting to see one cute thing eat another cute thing, like if a puppy suddenly ate a kitty.

Other than that little bit of horror, things have been peaceful here on the farm. Since I’m off work for a bit and can’t do much, I sit outside on nice days and watch all the critters. When Gene’s home I supervise his work on various projects from my comfy chair. He finished the winter enclosure for the chickens, which has a distinctly red neck vibe to it. It works well, though, and the chickens go in it when it starts to rain. It even has a grow light in it.

The only one who doesn’t use it is Condi – she’s still broody. I had the brilliant idea of giving her two of Christmas’s eggs to hatch, so we can get an early start on next year’s turkeys. I will know in about 28 days if that will work. In other chicken news, Gene got me five new Americauna chickens! They are about a year old, and will lay dark green eggs. I’m very excited. There are four hens and a rooster, whom I’ve named King Julian. So far they are getting along well with our girls. King Julian and the fancy roosters get into the occasional crow off, so between all the roosters and the turkeys our yard is very cheerful sounding.

Tonight was dark and stormy, and true to the cliche I found myself walking alone down the dirt road to bring my friend a blackberry crisp I had just baked. She agreed to help me pick blackberries this afternoon in exchange for my turning them into something tasty and delicious to share with her family. Normally my vivid imagination prevents me from walking alone at night, but I figured I was brave enough to walk four houses down, no matter how dark and creepy our road was. Naturally my mind drifted to all the horrors that can befall a lone traveler, and I found myself pondering what my “Missing – Have You Seen Me?” poster would look like. The realization that my description would read something along the lines of “last seen wearing red plaid flannel pants, pink Crocs, and a ‘Swamp People’ T-shirt” makes me think perhaps I should try harder in the wardrobe department.

In addition to baking – I also made muffins – I spent most of the day helping Gene build a PVC pipe winter enclosure for the chickens. We just lost Mary Kate to a sneak attack in broad daylight, so I want to curtail their free range activities when they’re unsupervised. Several neighbors have reported seeing a huge coyote that is brave enough to chill on people’s porches; apparently Gene and I are the only ones who walk around armed, because people keep seeing it. I only need to see it once. To keep the chickens safe, Gene designed a huge framework that he’s going to wrap in chicken wire, then I’ll design various play areas inside so they don’t get bored. He has put his foot down in response to my request for a water feature, but that won’t stop me from asking again. And again.


We also winterized the turkey pen and the Bunny Ranch by wrapping three sides in plastic to keep the rain out. The plan was to do the same to the goat’s covered area, but Fiona nixed that idea by eating the plastic from the turkey pen. We had to build frames, staple the plastic inside, then slide them into the turkey kennel. I was really of no help at all, since once again I’ve got my right arm in a cast. Plus I’m still on pain meds, so not only does Gene have to put up with my lack of coordination, but he also gets to work around me staring into space for periods of time. Which actually isn’t much different than usual.

Since I can’t pick up the bunnies safely one handed, Gene built them a ladder so they can come and go as they please during the day. At first they were scared of it, but now they race up and down it chasing each other. Clearly they need a jungle gym. The exercise wouldn’t hurt them – they are sporting huge beer guts now. Pound for pound they’re catching up with Thing 1, which makes sense for 40-lb bunnies. They are still very social, and will hop right up to me. They seem to like being held now, especially if you bribe them with grapes first. I have yet to hear them make any noise (apart from chewing), but apparently they can make some sort of skittering or humming noise.

At least I can grab the chickens easily one-handed. Condi is still broody, so the best part of being home from work is I can boot her outside every few hours. I also moved the fancy chickens outside, figuring they can benefit from fresh air. They are living in the A-frame inside the turkey kennel, since they’re too young to be outside quite yet. I didn’t think Christmas could still fit inside, so I didn’t think them sharing the kennel at night would be an issue. I went to check on them just after dark, though, and found Christmas standing under the heat lamp with four cowering chicks trying to be invisible. It was truly reminiscent of Godzilla stomping Tokyo. It took me half an hour to shoo her out, then I put up a barricade so she can’t get back in. She could easily have killed all four of them, so I’m glad I’m obsessive enough to check on everyone at least once after dark.

I’m trolling Craig’s list for replacement chickens, because I’d like our flock to be at least 12 strong. I would also like for the whole predator/prey relationship to stop illustrating itself in our backyard. I’m temped to dust all the chickens with cayenne powder. 

Gene and I spent most of the weekend canning. We had friends from work come over on Saturday, and we harvested enough blackberries to make 14 pints of blackberry jelly and 5 pints of blackberry syrup. Then today, we canned peaches, pears, and apples, and made tomato sauce. Last week we canned more blackberries, and made salsa and ground cherry jam . Gene had the brilliant idea of moving the canning station inside to the covered porch he built last year, which means we can process fruits and veggies anytime without having to worry about the weather. It’s also bug and wind free, although it’s not kitty and puppy free. That’s the only drawback. I was a little worried because I always thought you weren’t supposed to use propane inside, but I guess it’s ventilated enough. We’re not dead yet, anyway, and we’ve been canning a lot.

When I’m not canning, I’ve been harvesting. I even tackled the Tomatonator, which is disconcerting. The ripe tomatoes are all hiding inside the shrubbery, and the green ones ring the perimeter. Unfortunately, the spiders lurk inside too. I really really really wanted to make salsa though, so I downed some liquid courage (of the bright blue wine cooler variety, cuz I’m classy like that), and dove in. Literally. Since the tomato bushes are about five feet high, I have to part the branches and lean in to get the ripe ones. In addition to hoards of spiders, the Tomatonator is also home to birds and wild rabbits, neither of which enjoys being disturbed and both of which will let you know by exiting the shrubbery straight at your face. Harvesting the peppers for the salsa was also challenging, although more in a culinary sense rather than an “oh my god it’s coming right for us” kind of way. I was sampling the peppers, trying to find the hot variety I was sure I planted, but none of them were the least bit spicy. Until you eat a whole one. Then it tastes like fire, for the rest of the day. The salsa is going to be awesome though.

Harvesting the ground cherries was my favorite crop, since they taste fresh and citrusy, and they fall on the ground when they’re ripe. You don’t have to fight birds, squirrels, or spiders to get them. For those of you who don’t know what they are, they are related to tomatillos and gooseberries; they grow in paper husks which you remove right before eating them. They make excellent jam, and are good in pies or eaten raw in salads. Or right out of the harvesting bucket, if you’re me.

In farm animal news, Condi is still broody. All she wants to do is hang out in the shed. I even tried dunking her in a bucket of cold water a few times, in an effort to get her body temperature down. (It increases when they’re broody, since the instinct to incubate their eggs has kicked in.) I thought she was annoyed when I kept kicking her out of the coop… that’s nothing compared to how she got after being dunked in the bucket. She ran in circles around me squawking and huffing and puffing, and then went straight for my head. Again. She sat on my shoulder for awhile, and this time Gene was out there so he could take a picture. Which also would have been useful to show the EMTs, had she been successful in plucking out my eyeballs like I’m sure she wanted too. When I put her back down on the ground, I made the mistake of turning my back on her, and she climbed up the back of my shirt using her talons.  Apparently she’s not a fan of bathing.


Paris, Nikki, and the Bedonkaduck are huge fans of the water, no matter what temperature it is outside. They are good friends now, and will even eat out of the same food bowl without chasing each other off. The Bedonkaduck and Paris sleep together on the roof, but poor Nikki hasn’t figured out how to get up there yet. She likes to hang out with the turkeys instead. 

Speaking of turkeys, I don’t think I’ll feel bad about eating Thanksgiving. He’s gotten so fat now he can barely waddle around; the fastest he ever moves is when I fill their food bowl at night. He’s like the 600 lb guy that hangs out in the recliner all day. Sure he’s happy, but it’s kind of a quality of life issue. He still gets it on with Christmas with stunning regularity though, he’s got some serious moves for a fatty.


I’m not sure how Christmas stays so thin, since she also eats everything in sight. She’s like the annoying friend we all have who eats dessert every time you go out but never gains weight. I’ve discovered that in addition to watermelon, she loves apples, peaches, and pears. All the critters were ecstatic this weekend because they got all the scraps from canning. Harvey and Claire were especially happy, since it’s a lot of work to maintain their epic growth rate.

It’s a good thing Gene built the Bunny Ranch to the scale that he did, because dang. They’re growing fast. They can mow their way through a handful of grapes and a few leaves of chard before you even have time to close the gate. They’ve become very friendly, and actually like to cuddle with people now. Always a good trait in 40 pound bunnies.

I think Fall has officially arrived. The front yard is full of fallen leaves (where they will remain until spring, because watching our neighbor twitch is so much fun) and the air has that crispness about it. I’m sad about the end of summer, especially since my tomatoes aren’t ripe yet, but I do love all the harvesting that’s associated with fall. Canning production here on the farm is in full swing – we made 10 pints of plum jam from plums that a neighbor grew, and 4 pints of blackberry/plum jam. It’s a good thing we buy sugar in bulk, because we burned through about 30 cups of it. Gene and I also made 6 pints of amaretto blackberries, which should taste amazing. And here’s hoping the canning process didn’t zap all the alcohol out. In other harvest news, wild bunnies ate the remainder of my lentil crop, so I wasn’t thrilled about that. I’m tempted to let Harvey and Claire out, so they can eat the wild bunnies. 

Our new rabbits are loving the Bunny Ranch, and they’ve commissioned some upgrades. Gene added a litter box, an ingenious plumbing system (their poo falls between the slats and onto a plastic panel, which then runs into a plastic tub), a small bench so I can sit and play with them, and several treat stations. My contribution was a beaded door pull. I commented one day that they should probably have some toys, just in case they got bored, so Gene had our local hardware store special order some rabbit toys. They came in today, and Gene was excited because he got to go into McClendon’s and ask where they kept their bunny balls. The bunnies love them – they toss them up into the air.

In bird related news, I got two new pals for the remaining Bedonkaduck. She seemed kind of lonely, so I trolled Craig’s List and found two Muscovy ducks for sale. The three get along great, and the Muscovies are gorgeous – they have dark green, blue, and brown highlights. I’ve named them Paris and Nikki, just because they are both fairly dumb but they look beautiful. They’re fitting right in – their favorite spot is the wading pool. 

The chickens are happy too, for the most part. Condi has gotten very broody, and she would sulk in her nesting box all day long if we let her. I pulled her out this afternoon and forced her to go outside. She was clearly unhappy about it – she puffed up to fifteen times her normal size, and paced back and front of me bobbing her head. She was clucking and huffing and giving me her “oh no you didn’t” look. I think she was annoyed that I was laughing at her. I was standing near her with my arms crossed, and all of a sudden she launched herself right at my face. By the time I finished thinking, “wow, that angry ball of feathers is coming right at my face”, she was already perched on my arms, which I didn’t have a chance to uncross because I was so busy wondering if she was really attacking me. (You’d think given my occupation that I would have better reflexes, but apparently not.) So now she’s sitting on my arms, facing me, and staring at me while bobbing her head back and forth and clucking. I’m too afraid to look at her, because I’m worried she’s about to go for my eyes. I kept looking down at the ground, off to one side, hoping she would get off. She seemed perfectly happy to perch there, though, so I gently uncrossed my arms and tried to reposition her (difficult when I’m too scared to look at her), and she climbed up onto my shoulder where she sat like a huge parrot. In retrospect, it was really cute and charming (mostly because I’m still in possession of both my eyes), but at the time it was kind of scary. Gene said I should have batted her out of the air with a quickness, but I have a hard time defending myself against cute things. 

Princess Fiona knows this, and has no problem punching me in the stomach with her hooves if I don’t feed her fast enough. That particular habit I’m trying to break her of, because I’ve seen too many episodes of “When Animals Attack” to let that kind of behavior slide. She did it again today when I was handing out watermelon. With the exception of Thanksgiving and Buttercup, that is everyone’s favorite treat, and they mob me for it. I have to take turns dispensing watermelon chunks, and god help me if Fiona doesn’t get hers first. Next comes Christmas, then the ducks, then the chickens, then Fiona again. She’s really the only one that doesn’t patiently wait her turn, which doesn’t shock me since she’s the biggest.  Harvey and Claire love watermelon too – they basically inhale it. Actually, they inhale pretty much anything that’s put in front of them. They’re doubled in size since we brought them home.

The Fancy Chickens are ecstatic to have the full run of their brooding box back. They are getting big quickly as well – I had to put a second feed bowl in their for them. The biggest Polish chicken likes to perch on top of the water dispenser. He’s a confirmed rooster – when you walk past the garage you can hear this really squeaky, high-pitched crowing noise. He’s trying so hard to sound tough, but not quite making it; he’s more like the equivalent of the Vienna Boy’s Choir. They should be ready to integrate with the rest of the flock by October, although I think we’ll let the roosters live in the goat pasture with the ducks and the turkeys. I would like at least one batch of fertilized eggs, so I can watch chicks hatch, but mostly I want to be able to eat the eggs.

Exciting news this week! Harvey and Claire, the Giant Flemish Rabbits, checked out what was available on the market and decided on a fully enclosed, elevated cedar mansion with about 30 square feet of luxury living. It opens out onto another enclosed 80 square feet of green space. They have plenty of room to hop around, no matter how monstrously huge they get. The only downside is they might have to share it with at least one rooster. (One of the fancy chickens is starting to crow, never a good sign if you aren’t expecting a rooster.) Hopefully all four of them won’t start to crow; if they do I might have to write a strongly worded letter to the feed store. 

I moved the bunnies in to their new home tonight, and they seem to love it! They are really friendly now, and come hopping up to me whenever I come over to them. (And it has nothing to do with the fact that I’m never without treats, they just love me that much.)

Our last surviving Bedonkaduck has relocated his bedroom to the roof of the shed, which is probably a good thing. We had some sad drama over the weekend – we got invaded by another bobcat. And this time, I feel like an idiot, because I was about four feet away from it, shining a flashlight on it, and I thought it was someone’s pet cat. Even though it was in the goat pasture, about five feet away from the ducks. I didn’t think it was even big enough to be a threat, but apparently ferociousness comes in small packages. And it was sitting down. But A) I didn’t want to shoot someone’s Mr. Fluffy, and B) I don’t want to take pot shots in the dark if I’m not 100% sure what I’m shooting at. So sure enough, the dang bobcat takes out two ducks during the night. Sigh. Nature sucks. We had friends over the next evening, and he graciously sat in a lawn chair with a .22 and shot the bobcat as it was stalking the last Bedonkaduck. But if anyone asks, yes, it was coming right for us, and yes, we had a hunting tag for it, I just don’t remember where I put it.

But on to happier news…. as soon as the Fancy Chickens are old enough to mingle with the rest of the flock (except for the roosters, of course), I want to get some quail. You can order them online, and they come through the mail with a little incubator to hatch the eggs. As you can imagine, I’m so very, very excited. As is Gene. He can hardly wait to build me a quail sanctuary. I just have to dream up what I want it to look like, and he’ll make it happen.  He completely redesigned the storage area for the feed, so now there’s tons more room in the shed! But back to the quails…I’m going to sell the eggs for $8 a dozen at next year’s Farmer’s Market in Belfair (at some point, all this stuff has to start making us some money back. I’m content to be paid back in love and cuddles and eggs, but Gene, not so much). As a last resort, I’ll just sell tickets to see the freakishly huge rabbits.

Blackberry picking season has finally arrived! It’s the one time of the year when Gene lets me completely disregard common sense in pursuit of sweet luscious blackberries. Today we picked about 25 cups worth, and made 14 pints of blackberry jelly. There were even enough blackberries left over for a pie! In order to get the really juicy ones, you have to be creative. Gene had the brilliant idea of backing up the F-150 into the bushes, putting down the tailgate, then weighting down a 2×12 board. (You can probably see where this is going…) I walked out on the board and had access to a bountiful supply of beautiful berries. It was a little scary, so naturally I needed some liquid courage.

Picking the berries is like the games of Jenga, Operation, and Let’s Make a Deal all thrown into one painful pursuit for the perfect berry.  You never know what’s behind the next leaf – juicy berry, angry wasp, or ginormous spider. And no matter what you find, you can’t jerk away in horror, because it hurts. (That’s the other reason I like to involve alcohol – it makes me fearless.)

Using the truck worked out great (let’s see you do that with a Smart car – everyone should have a truck). We put a huge cooler full of water in the bed, and threw the berries in it. The water keeps them from getting crushed by the weight, which happens when you pick in the quantities that we do. It also saves a step in the end, because they’re already washed off. You just have to float off the detris, dead bugs, and worms. (Gene’s job, obviously). After we crushed the berries and drained the juice for the jelly, I gave the mash to the chickens. They loved it, and ate the entire bowl. In a few more days, there should be more to harvest. I think we will freeze the next batch; they’re awesome in smoothies.

Even more exciting than blackberry season though, we got bunnies!!!! and not just any rabbits – I would never settle for run of the mill, everybody has one boring old rabbits. No, I got two Giant Flemish Rabbits. That breed can get up to 45 pounds. Yup, we’re going to have two 45 pound rabbits roaming the pasture. I can’t wait!!!!! Chupi was pretty excited when we brought them home, because finally he isn’t the smallest critter we own. Boy is he in for a surprise. Harvey and Claire (because they need big sounding names) are so cute and cuddly, and they like to be held. You have to watch out for their claws though, they are seriously razor sharp. Not so worrying when they’re 2 pounds; but I’m thinking they could gut you when they reach their full size. Here’s hoping they stay friendly. 
The plan is to breed them, because people sell them on Craig’s List for $50.  I got ours for $25 a piece, and once Gene builds their Bunny Ranch, there won’t be much more cost involved, since they can use the same feed and bedding as the other critters. Gene is building them a reinforced hutch in the chicken’s winter enclosure. It will be about three feet off the ground with a ladder leading into it, so the chickens won’t be losing any space. Gene rigged a little play area for them today in the backyard, and they hopped happily around eating clover and a piece of chard I gave them from the garden. At night, they are currently sub-leasing a spot from the fancy chickens in the brooding box. We used Ceri’s old dog gate for a barrier, since we were just storing it in the garage (she can just step over it now). They also went with a Nascar-themed bedroom set, and seem very happy. The fancy chickens don’t mind sharing the box, in fact, they seem very intrigued by their new roommates and just sit and stare at them.

Lots of exciting news here on the farm! It’s been almost two weeks since my last post, mostly because I took a vacation. Actually, it was a staycation, since I stayed home. Bess Bess came to visit us from Omaha! She was properly impressed by everything, and all my predictions came true – she loved the chickens, thought the goats were cute, and got cornered by a puffed up and hissing turkey. I would have rescued her sooner, but I was laughing too hard.  Bess Bess wasn’t a fan of the turkeys.

Speaking of the turkeys, HUGE news! Christmas laid her first egg! Turkey eggs are quite large, maybe four times the size of chicken eggs. This one looked like a “practice” egg, since the shell was fairly translucent. Very pretty though, covered in brown speckles. Oddly enough, she chose to lay her egg in the wading pool, which I guess makes sense, given how fond she is of dropping bombs in there. She laid the egg two days ago, and it’s still in the refrigerator. I wanted to wait until Gene wasn’t working so he could be the one to crack it open… Since she and Thanksgiving are so fond of getting them some wild turkey lovin’ on, I’m afraid it might be fertilized. (And as you may have noticed, today’s Fashion Farmer is wearing sparkle neon green).

Since it’s been so hot here during the day (and cold at night, whatever, Washington weather gods, you suck) most of the animals have been hanging out poolside. The wading pool is supposed to be for drinking only, but no one pays attention to the rules (particularly the exit the pool to go to the bathroom rule — good thing they don’t have a hot tub!). I have to refill it once or twice a day. Who knew turkeys like to wade?

The Bedonkaducks new favorite game is to play in the mud puddle created by my emptying the pool, then wash themselves off in the freshly refilled pool. If they weren’t cute it would be annoying. Their second favorite game is to blow bubbles in the puddles with their beaks… they sound like five-year-olds playing with straws in their milk glasses.

Ceri isn’t a huge fan of the heat, but she does love playing in water. Her plastic wading pool is not long for this world, since she likes to try to pick it up and empty it. I think it’s because she knows I will come fill it with the hose, and then she can play. She’s very similar to the other animals in that she loves to drop random objects into the pool. I discovered the hard way that instead of actually eating slugs, the ducks are opting to drop them into their pond, where they then die, sink to the bottom, and bloat to fifteen times their normal size. Nasty.

In other bird news, the fancy chicks are doing well, although they’re at that stage where their new feathers are growing in, so they look totally scraggly and grumpy all the time. The ones with the head feathers are hysterical, they remind me of that 80s band Flock of Seagulls. I can’t wait until they’re full grown! We are still deciding on names, but I’m thinking along the lines of Reggae singers…too bad I don’t know any off the top of my head. “King Julian” is an option if we have a rooster; he’s that lemur character from Madagascar.

In actual farm news, I’m proud to say that we canned 42 jars of pickles in the last few weeks! Gene cheated a little, because we had to buy our cucumbers from a local farm, but it’s a farm I love to support. Big shout out for Duris  Cucumber Farm in Puyallup, for everybody local. While we were prepping the veggies for pickling, every time I looked up one of the puppies was eating a cucumber. I would take it away, and within five minutes, they had another one. We were storing the ones we were slicing in a huge water filled cooler in the kitchen, and I knew they weren’t getting them out of there (I’m a detective, I get paid to be observant!) It took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out they were getting them from the box we had stored in the back room. We had a lot of fun, though, the pickles taste amazing. I also totally reorganized my canning supplies; we bought a new storage shelf and I’ve already filled it up. Although Bess Bess was impressed with our supply of canned and dehydrated supplies, the mere subject of our “Apocalypse Closet” fussed her greatly. She was similarly un-impressed with our experiment to dehydrate eggs. Since we’re getting 8 fresh eggs a day now (and one can only eat so many in day), we decided to try dehydrating them for storage. It actually worked pretty well, at least the dehydrating portion of it. We haven’t tried reconstituting them yet, but judging from their appearance, I expect the taste and consistency will remind Gene of his Army days, and probably not in a good way.

Judging by the weather lately, apparently summer is over. It even smells like fall outside, and the leaves are starting to change. It feels like September already! Hrmph. I’m going to have to speed up my winter planting I guess. Most of my crops aren’t anywhere near done yet, especially the Tomatonater. It still has blossoms on it! I’ve given up completely on the kohlrabi; it has started to bolt, and the roots look nothing like what they’re supposed to. Obviously something was wrong with that batch of seeds. On the plus side, though, Fiona and Buttercup love to eat the greens. I uproot the plant, shove it through the fence, and let them go to town. It’s quickly becoming their favorite treat.

Gene and Storm went garaging sale prowling this weekend, and they brought me back the coolest vintage picnic basket ever! We lined it with egg crates, and it’s a perfect egg collection device. You may have noticed from the picture that today’s fashion farmer is wearing purple sparkle nail polish (I’m a trend setter!) I learned two important lessons today: 1) turkeys love purple sparkles and 2) don’t wear open-toed sandals near the fence, no matter how good your sparkle toes look.  
I am going to make a vinyl liner for the basket, then I can also use it as a harvesting basket, because certain puppies who shall remain nameless ate my pink plastic harvesting pail. Apparently I shouldn’t leave it outside when Ceri decides she’s bored. Her plastic pool is suffering a similar fate. She just loves to chew.

Now that the Bedonkaducks have full access to the pasture area, thanks to a small whole Gene cut in the fence, I’ve realized that they love to play as well. And they’re almost as destructive as puppies, at least when it comes to water. They have discovered the water bucket that the turkeys and the goats drink from, and have decided it’s great sport to dump huge mouthfuls of dirt into it. I changed out everybody’s water yesterday, and when I was doing the farm chores today, I noticed it was so muddy that bugs were walking across the top of it. I watched it for awhile, and sure enough, the ducks started playing in it. I’m not sure what I’m going to do, except maybe put more buckets out.

All my long term readers no doubt remember the epic battle that took place on the farm earlier this year when I was dealing with the rampant aphid infestation in the greenhouse. Well, the aphids have moved on to greener pastures, so to speak, but I’m now dealing with a teeming hoard of flies in the chicken coop. Don’t get me wrong – they aren’t large flies by any means. They don’t buzz particularly loudly, nor do they swarm around my head the minute I walk in. They’re polite flies. But still. They’re there. In large numbers. They fly in their busy little figure 8 patterns just high enough up that the chickens can’t reach them, and unfortunately there are more of them every day. Gene installed some of those sticky fly strips, and that helps a little. He mentioned in passing one day that he had put them in there, which of course I promptly forgot. Thanks to my legendary ability to notice my surroundings, I walked right into one of them. Trying to untangle your hair from the glue strip while avoiding having to actually touch any stuck flies is difficult, especially when you can’t see what you’re doing. I would prefer combing out bubble gum, because it doesn’t buzz angrily at you. So after I finally freed myself, I went to harvest the eggs. And no, I didn’t look up. Walked right into another one. Sigh. And by the way, I’m illustrating this paragraph with a pretty flower picture, because the way the stuck flies look on the paper creeps me out, and it’s like the only thing in the history of this farm I haven’t photographed. 
In other pest related news, something weird is happening to my azalea seedlings. They looked… munched. I would blame the chickens, because they tend to maraud and pillage like that, leaving a wake of garden destruction, but I don’t think they can reach that high. I don’t think it’s slugs, because then the stems would be bent over. And the really weird thing is only the azaleas on the left of the bed are getting eaten. For now I’ve filed the mystery under “WTF”, because I’m too busy fighting the flies. Not to keep harping on my battle plan, but if the fly paper doesn’t work fast enough, and their numbers continue to multiply, I’m going to drag the vacuum outside and suck them out of the air. (And I’ll make Gene empty the canister when I’m done, because that’s just gross). Either that, or I need to figure out where they sleep and bring the noise, as it were. They magically disappear at dusk.

But enough talk of carnage. In happier news, Storm and I made a batch of dill pickles from the latest cucumber harvest. I love the way fresh dill smells, and I even love the smell of vinegar simmering on the stove. Whenever I get a whiff of it, I start thinking about fall and harvesting. And then Gene ruins the mood by walking in and declaring, “It stinks in here, open a window.” I still think there’s something magical about the smell of fresh dill though. I had a large bunch of it soaking in a water glass by the window earlier in the week, and we didn’t use it all for the pickles. I decided to let it sit there for awhile, basically just treating it like it was a bouquet. Chunk didn’t even knock it over, although he was intrigued by it. After a few days of enjoying the aroma, I accidentally bumped it with a pan while I was washing dishes, and a huge swarm of fruit flies detached from it. I was all, really? Enough with the F’n flies already (and to the kids reading this, the “F” stands for fruit. Really.)

Apart from the swarms of flies, the Tomatonator and the strawberry patch are the other two things that are rapidly growing larger. Perhaps I’m supposed to be pruning the tomatoes? One end of the Tomatonator has assimilated an eggplant almost completely (Borg reference, anyone?) It’s almost to the point where if you stand on the far side of the garden, you can’t see the house. And granted, there’s a bit of a slope, but still. It’s a little disconcerting. It’s like a scene from that show on the Discovery channel that shows what cities look like after all the people die off. It’s that big now. I’m going to have to rent a Rototiller when it comes to turning the garden under for the winter. By the way, the large leafy plant in the front of the Tomatonator is an eggplant, otherwise known as the next victim. Resistance is futile.

And speaking of total domination, I’m going to market my turkey herding stick. Right now it’s just a piece of PVC pipe, but once I bedazzle it, or glue tassles onto it, I’m sure it will sell quickly to today’s fashion farmer. So far, they are still respecting the stick. I’ve included a picture of it – the turkey is blurry because he’s moving that fast. If you want the real experience of turkey herding, stare at the picture while saying repeatedly, in a high pitched voice, “please don’t bite me please don’t bite me please don’t bite me.” Welcome to my world.

I’ve decided that since this blog is no doubt read by millions and millions, I can do better than just a boring old date title when I’m writing it. It’s kind of a work in progress, so I welcome any feedback. I’m also going to try posting more often, because I have a lot of fun writing these. I hope you enjoy reading them as much as I like writing them!


So the turkeys have decided they no longer need to respect my authority, much like every other critter in this household. I now have to employ my “turkey mover” stick, because they won’t go to bed when they’re supposed to any more. The female just sits on the ground and refuses to move, and the male puffs up and shifts his weight from side to side, just glaring at me. It’s like he knows I’m too scared to pick him up. I can always tell when he’s getting ornery, because he starts breathing really really loud. It’s the creepiest thing ever – you can hear him from three feet away. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he suddenly said, “Luke, I am your father.” It’s that loud. I’m really worried about what I’ll do when they no longer respect the stick. It’s a four foot length of PVC pipe, and I use it to herd them where I want them to go, while conveniently staying out of harm’s way. They have definitely become teenagers, and they’ve even fell in love with each other. It’s all Wild Kingdom now, if you get my drift. It’s like a trainwreck — you can’t not watch, because it’s so indescribably weird. I’m so excited for turkey eggs, though! I want to raise a turkey chick – we can name it Easter!


Along the subject of eggs, I think the next addition to the farm needs to be quail. I’ve given up on the miniature horse idea (because really, that’s no different than Buttercup), and I’ve reluctantly given up on the potbelly pig idea. Reluctantly. But quail are so small and cute, Gene can’t possibly object! And, they’re always raving about quail eggs on Top Chef, and they cost like $10 in the store, so I’m totally not seeing a down side to my plan. They also have three times the nutritional value of chicken eggs, despite being so small (I learned that from a cooking show last night, lest you think I’m wasting my time watching TV).

I want to try eating the duck eggs, too, although it will be a few months before we have any. And I’m a little worried that the special Bedonaduck is male, so we’ll have fertilized eggs to deal with, but I’ll worry about that when it happens. (Gene is totally going to crack the first one open, though, unless he wants to see some drama). I’m going to have to start changing the water in the pond more than once a week, because they dirty it up with a quickness. I also desperately need either a pump or an assistant, because damn. I’m tempted to wear my gas mask from work when I bail it out; it’s a little ripe. It’s also hard to throw the water out of the bucket, because if you throw it in the wrong spot, it drains back into the pond. (That was ten minutes worth of “why the heck is the water level staying the same??? before I figured it out). The other thing you have to watch out for is the metal post that’s right in front of where I bail, because if you hit it with the water, half of it comes back in your face. I learned two important lessons today: 1) wear sunglasses and 2) bail with my mouth shut. I’m totally going to buy a pump tomorrow.


Aside from dealing with murky pond water, the only other true challenge on the farm is the Tomatonator.  It’s over five feet tall now, and has started to consume one of my eggplants. I can no longer see my beets or carrots, so I fear the worst. I think it’s turning predatory – eggplants, beets, and carrots today, deer tomorrow. Condi won’t even go near it any more. She’s the chicken that has figured out how to defeat the fence surrounding the garden. I finally figured out how she does when I was weeding today. She finds a spot where there’s an inch gap between the ground and the bottom of the fence, then she flattens herself out and crawls underneath, like a reverse limbo. I had no idea chickens could flatten themselves out like that. It was weird to see, because she literally looked like a feathered pancake while she was squirming underneath. I think next year I’m going back to putting the tomatoes in containers. Either that or I’ll grow a privacy hedge of them across the front yard.