All in all, 2011 was a pretty good year, with a few notable exceptions. The growing season was almost non-existent, I lost way too many beloved chickens and ducks to predators, and our hoop house got destroyed not once, but twice, by freak storms. But I learned valuable lessons from the bad times, such as the importance of taking the safety off when you’re pointing a rifle at a coyote, and that a squishy slug, while utterly repulsive, will make a happy duck’s day. 

Below are ten other important things I’ve learned, in no particular order:

10: Enthusiasm does not replace skill when it comes to using power tools.

9: Raccoons suck. Seriously. To your right is pictured pure evil, courtesy of our neighbor’s Game Camera, which I have dubbed “KillCam”. Thanks to my new best friend, we have discovered it was a humongous raccoon that chomped its way through all three of my poor boy ducks in the space of two nights. Game on. Tonight we’re borrowing the same neighbor’s hunting dogs, specifically trained to track raccoons. Yippee ki yay, raccoon. Enjoy 2012 while it lasts.

8: The farm critters eat a more balanced diet than I do, and even practice Yoga. We should all strive to be more like chickens.


7: There’s a reason none of the other famous nature photographers have goats for assistants.

6:You can never have too many seeds.

5: No matter how big your garden is, it’s never big enough.





4: Chickens expect treats. Always.

3: If there’s a limit to how many extension cords you can have in one back yard, we haven’t found it yet.

2: Enthusiasm is a great substitute for actual knowledge when it comes to gardening.

1: You can’t have a proper farm without quails, which is why Gene’s first task in the new year is building a quail pen for me. On an unrelated note, there is a never ending list of animals I’ve discovered you can’t have a proper farm without. Miniature pot-bellied pigs, I’m talking about you.

Christmas time on the farm has been relatively peaceful so far….our tree is still standing, despite Chunk’s numerous attempts to get a better look at the star. Ceri loves crawling underneath it, but she has yet to knock it over. I’m sure she’ll wait to do that until it’s decorated. There’s only been one real Christmas casualty – Fiona was able to knock the wreath down when I was mucking out her stall. She repaid my favor of giving her a sparkling clean bedroom by eating the bow.

Harvey has a new brand new bachelor pad; although I still let him and Claire run around together during the occasional play date. It took Gene about two weeks to get around to building it, mostly due to the seasonal conditions (football is on). Not being known for my patience, I decided I was going to finish it myself. Gene had managed to frame out the bachelor pad, but had yet to get around to roofing it or attaching the door. I figured that neither roofs nor doors seemed terribly difficult, especially since I routinely watch HG TV. I started my construction adventure by putting on my Carhartt overalls, since that’s what they wear on those home improvement shows. (Notice the lack of a picture showing me in overalls…I do not rock the overalls). Then I went out into the garage to inventory Gene’s vast selection of power tools. I started by making two piles – one consisted of tools I could determine which end was up, and the other of tools I couldn’t figure out how to hold properly.

I narrowed down the first pile by asking myself if I knew what a real construction person (constructionist?) would do with it. That left me with two tools. Actually three, but one was just a smaller version of the other. I don’t know what they’re called, but I quickly gave up on the large one with the circle shaped blade when I couldn’t figure out how to move the plastic safety shield. I brought the other one, a single saw blade with a motor, over to my 8′ x 10′ piece of plywood, which I had determined after much measuring and planning needed to be cut in half. I propped it up against the wall, then braced it with my boot and put the saw down on top of it. Which didn’t work at all, because the teeth on the blade were pointed up, and my wood was beneath it. I then put the plywood down on top of some fence posts, and gave the smaller circle saw tool a go at it, since on that one the stupid plastic thing moved when you shoved it against the wood. It worked great for the first 2 centimeters… then it hit the driveway and stopped. I tried again, this time holding the saw up a few inches to give it more clearance. That worked too, until it got too heavy and hit the driveway again. The tool, realizing where this was headed, decided to stop working entirely. I went in and woke Gene up, trying to explain what was happening. He had just gone to bed a few hours ago, so he groggily told me that I was doing fine and just needed a bigger saw. Unfortunately (or fortunately) the bigger saw was the one I couldn’t figure out how to move the safety shield, so I went back to the other saw thing, which I have since learned is a jigsaw. I am quite proud to say that after much noise, much swearing, and many, many minutes, I was able to cut the plywood in half. Then I had to stop because the bit for the screw gun fell out, and I couldn’t get it to stick back in. Finally Gene came out and said I’d cut the plywood too short and now we couldn’t use it at all. On the plus side, he finished Harvey’s bachelor pad, and I have new respect for his carpentry skills.

I discovered something a little disconcerting when I went to give Harvey and Claire their breakfast bag of salad. If I take too long to actually put the salad in their dish, Claire will express her frustration at my slowness by yanking the bowl out of my hand, flipping her head to the side, and throwing the bowl. Usually at me. I expect that kind of thing from your average two year old; from a pet rabbit, not so much. I have to cut her some slack though, I think she’s pregnant. I also think they’re a little older than the breeder I got them from said they were. Either that, or I wrote their ages down wrong (obviously I’m going with option A). At any rate, it looks like our rabbit breeding project just got moved up by three months. Which means Gene only has a few more days to section off the Bunny Ranch. 
It could be a false alarm though – apparently if a female rabbit is exposed to a male teenage rabbit’s raging hormones, she can start acting pregnant, even though she isn’t. She started building a little fur nest inside her box two days ago; if she actually is pregnant that means Gene has about three days left to finish rezoning the ranch. I’m super excited to have a bunch of baby rabbits! Although if we don’t sell them all, the Bunny Ranch will need an addition. I can’t imagine having up to ten bunnies of substantial size… Harvey and Claire are already bigger than the chickens!

In other farm news, I’m sad to say we lost Pippa. She was one of my favorite chickens, and the most friendly of the flock. The scary thing is I have no idea what was wrong with her… she was fine in the morning, then by nighttime I noticed she couldn’t stand up without falling over. I immediately admitted her to the chicken hospital (also known as our master bathroom shower), but she didn’t make it through the night. At least she went peacefully though. None of the other chickens are showing any sign of illness, in fact they are quite the opposite – both the chickens themselves and their eggs are getting larger. They are also going through feed at quite an amazing rate; they take after their mama in that they eat more when they’re cold and bored.
Christmas and Thanksgiving are still enjoying their holiday reprieve. Christmas seems much more cuddly – every time I go into the pasture I’ll turn around and she’s huddled right behind me. She then looks up at me with her beautiful, pleading turkey eyes and says, “Let me live, mama”. (Okay, not really, I threw that in because Gene reads these before I post them).

Puff Daddy also sneaks up behind me whenever I’m outside, except he’s the opposite of cuddly. He’s decided that boots, any kind of boots, are his arch nemesis and must die immediately. It’s really hysterical, because he’s one of the tiniest, fluffiest of all the chickens, but he’ll give you the evil eye when you walk over to him, then without warning he’ll run straight for your feet and start pecking them. 
It’s much more endearing than Sean Paul’s habit of exploding off the roost in the morning and flying straight at your face. He’s in such a hurry to get out of the coop that he’s actually  bounced off me a few times. He can also execute a 90 degree turn in the air, which is rather impressive. It’s amazing what I’ve gotten used to as a farmer…what used to terrify me, such as a ball of squawking feathers and feet coming straight at me, now makes me say, oh, how sweet! He wants outside! Then I calmly turn my back and let him careen off my shoulder on his way to the great outdoors.
I’ve also found myself, on more than one occasion, finding a nice juicy slug clinging to the underside of the chicken’s watering dish. The old, non-farming Andie would have screamed, dropped the dish, and ran to get Gene to move the slimy, nasty, bloated worm. But the seasoned farm girl Andie shrieks with delight, thinking what a tasty treat is in store for the ducks. Then I grab it with my bare hands (without even an inner cringe!) and throw it over the fence, where it is met with much happiness and quacking.

As soon as I’m done updating the blog, I’m going to write a strongly worded letter to the good folks who make Superglue. Their product has nothing on what King Julian produces. I figured the bathroom would be an excellent place for him to recuperate after his play date with the eagles, since nothing sticks to linoleum right? OMG. It took me hours to clean that up, and I had several inches of straw down! A paint scraper was involved. It’s a good thing we’re in the middle of renovating our bathroom, or I might be vexed. Seriously, he even managed to poo on the wall. On the WALL! It would have been less work to flap on up to the toilet and use that then it was to hover like a feathered helicopter and open the blast doors, so to speak.

After two days of being woken up by King Julian’s braying, Gene said he was well enough to go back outside. Today was the first time he’s ever met Sean Paul, Marley, and Puff Daddy, but it went well, once all the a$$ kicking was done. Even without most of his feathers, he’s still the biggest rooster on the block. I went to check on them just a little bit ago after I put everyone to bed, and the three other roosters were all sleeping on the floor, while King Julian was kicking it on the roosting bars, surrounded by his girls. It’s good to be the king.

In rabbit news, I’ve been working on trying to bunny-proof the Bunny Ranch. I haven’t gotten very far though, because stapling chicken wire to the ground is hard to do one handed. It’s hard to do two-handed, which is why I think I’ll hand the project off to Gene. The rabbits are getting a little cranky, though; I think they miss being able to hop around downstairs, even if it is all muddy and yucky. I’m going to change Claire’s name to Bitey McFangfang, because every time I reach in their cage she takes a chomp. Apparently it’s not an uncommon situation, since lots of people posted that question on the Internet. To remedy the problem, I’m supposed to slowly put my hand in the cage to feed them, so they don’t perceive my arm as a threat. I’m not sure what about my timidly opening the gate, then shrieking and throwing their food at them when they lunge at me is threatening, but whatever. Clearly the author of that article never had a fifteen pound rabbit hanging off his forearm by its teeth. And the growling doesn’t help. I’m seriously considering having people sign a waiver before they come visit us. (Sure, the bathroom is the second door on the right, don’t startle the rooster though!)

Hell has officially frozen over here at the farm… Gene is letting me keep a rooster in the house! Of course it’s just on a temporary basis; poor King Julian got to soar with the eagles yesterday…. until they dropped him. Our neighbor found him early this morning, and now he is recuperating in our master bathroom shower. He lost over half of his feathers, and was so shivering and cold from being outside all night that even Gene couldn’t deny him the luxury of indoor living until he gets better.
 
In another outpouring of unexpected charity on Gene’s part, he decided to give poor Thanksgiving a reprieve, mostly because he didn’t want to butcher in the monsoon-like weather we’re having. I never thought I would find myself ecstatic over the fact that it’s raining, but I must say I hope the weather around the end of December continues with the same theme. Maybe then Gene will just give up on his misguided idea that the poor defenseless turkeys are destined to be dinner. I suggested that we roast a nice bald eagle or two, but apparently there is some type of law preventing that. National symbol status aside, those birds had best start treating someone else’s backyard like a giant buffet or it’s going to start raining lead.

Since King Julian is living it up indoors for the foreseeable future, I moved Marley and Shawn Paul out into the main coop. They are fitting in well with the girls, and have already made themselves at home. I plan to move Fluff Daddy and Puff Mama out soon as well, then the ducks can start sharing the kennel set up with the turkeys. So far the ducks haven’t seemed the slightest bit interested in having any sort of roof over their heads, in fact Paris, Nikki, and Bedonkaduck all sleep on top of the kennel roof no matter what type of weather we’re having. Harvey and Claire are similarly oblivious to the cold. One night was so frigid that everybody’s water froze, so I tried putting a heat lamp in the Bunny Ranch. Claire hated it – she ran around in circles making a weird shrieking noise until I took it down. 

They have turned into bunnies of substantial size, large enough to leap up three feet. They love to jump on top of their hutch, so now they enjoy three levels of ranch living space. For some reason they hop over to me every time I enter the bunny ranch, and when I’m staring at them at eye level, they seem almost too big. I made the mistake of going in there empty handed the other morning, and when I reached in to take their water bowls out Harvey expressed his displeasure by sinking his teeth into my hand. Now at a minimum I bring wheat thins with me every time. Gene said I should have smacked him, but since Harvey can’t use words, how is he supposed to tell me he’s hungry? I think he made his point rather well.

The thing I hate most about this time of year, besides the below freezing temperatures, near constant rain, and cold dreary wind is the fact that it gets dark promptly at five o’clock. That means I leave for work in the dark, and come home to find the critters have pretty much put themselves to bed. I then have to grab a Coleman lantern, hang it from my cast, and go about dispensing food and water in the dark. I think it’s going to be a very cold winter, based on how shaggy Princesses Fiona and Buttercup have gotten. I’m amazed the ducks still enjoy swimming in their pool; just looking at them frolicking in the water when the temperature is two degrees above freezing makes me shudder. We are going to have to rig up quite a few electric water warmers if this keeps up. Either that, or give the ducks ice skates. And on a totally related note, did you know you can buy knit booties and hats for chickens??? How cute is that?

Harvey and Claire don’t seem to mind the freezing weather either; of course, they have packed on enough winter insulation to survive in Antarctica. They have to be at least 15 pounds now. Much to their dismay, Gene blocked off their burrows by driving rebar into the ground. That seems to have cured the burrowing problem; after pressing their noses through the bars and looking at me with sad puppy eyes they finally gave up trying to get out. Eventually we will ring the entire enclosure with rebar. That’s way easier than putting in a concrete floor.

The chickens don’t roam as far from their coop now; they seem content to cuddle with each other and hang out in their winter enclosure. They have also noticeably put on some winter weight, to the extent that pretty soon Gene is going to need to reinforce the roosting bars. It’s really cute to see all 11 of them trying to cram themselves onto two bars; they must do that to stay warm. They have also taken to using the same nesting box, often at the same time. The Fancy Chickens also stay inside their A-frame condo for most of the day. Fluff Mama should start laying eggs any day now, I’ve already found one of those weird “practice eggs” that look like deflated shells. After Thanksgiving and Christmas have transitioned to a higher plane of existence, the plan is to give the Fancy Chickens the run of the kennel coop, and cut a small hole in the door so they can go out into the pasture if they’d like. I wish we could just leave the door open, but the goats love to go in there and eat the chicken feed. I had to shoo Fiona out the other day, and I tried to shove her rear end to get her out the door. In response she would put all her weight on her front legs, and I would end up raising her butt up above her head instead of actually making her go anywhere. She’s like an obstinate two year old. The six chicks in the brooding box are oblivious to the weather, since their environment is temperature controlled. They are at that awkward stage where their bodies are still puffballs, but they have proper feathered wings. Gene said no more chickens after he got me the six of them, but he also said that after we got the flock of Americaunas, so clearly more chickens are in my near future.

This was my first week back to work, so you can imagine the guilt I was feeling about leaving the critters to fend for themselves after a month of dispensing treats and cuddles three times a day. When I got home on Tuesday, I was horrified to see Claire sitting outside the chicken coop. I herded her back into the Bunny Ranch and quickly realized Harvey was nowhere to be found. I looked down and saw they had dug an escape tunnel large enough to make any Alcatraz inmate proud. I spent the next four hours crawling around the backyard with a flashlight wailing, “Harvey, Harvey come home!” I’m sure the neighbors thought I sounded like a Lifetime network movie. I finally found him underneath one of the decks; he popped out when I started shaking grain in his food bowl. Then I spent the next half an hour trying to herd him back home; I finally just scooped him up, which was difficult one handed. I had the brilliant idea of trying to hold him wedged between my arm, neck, and chin, and promptly remembered they have really, really sharp claws. I eventually got them both tucked back into their hutch, and I was so happy they were safe I gave them double rations of apples and leafy chard. I’m sure they learned their lesson. Now poor Gene has to spend his weekend making the lower level of the ranch bunny proof. (And I told him his solution could not involve electricity in any way.)
I’m not sure why the bunnies felt compelled to escape; we’ve gotten a hard frost every night, and rain every day. Everyone but the ducks is already impatient for spring to come. I bailed out their pond over the weekend, mostly because you could smell it before you could see it. I had let it go for a few weeks because it takes forever to bail it out one-handed. I moved the pond liner since there was a lot of rain water underneath it, and discovered a group of small frogs. I was worried they would be crushed when I refilled the pond, so I carefully picked them up and put them to the side. I turned to grab the liner again, and was startled by a high pitched screaming sound from right behind me. I was happier before I knew that frogs shriek as they’re being swallowed by ducks. So much for keeping them safe.

In happier news, Gene finally grew weary of my not so subtle comments regarding how sad and empty the brooding box looked, so he got me six new chicks! About a week old, and sooooo cute. They are Golden Sex-Link; the color of the chick is linked to the sex, so male chicks are white and females are golden. The new chicks bring the grand total up to 21 chickens! Only 18 of them will live in the coop though, the fancy roosters will live in the pasture. Gene said the chicken coop has reached its capacity, so I told him he better start building another one. The woman we bought the chicks from has over 400 (400!) chickens, so she’s making us look like chicken farming rookies.

Gene and I winterized the garden today, and the chickens had a blast running around the turned dirt digging out earthworms and bugs. After struggling to uproot the Tomatonater, Gene made me promise to only grow tomatoes in pots next year. The Tomatonater resembled more of a shrub than a tomato plant, the root balls were huge. My job was to go around with a bucket and pick up all the fallen, squishy, rotten tomatoes. By the end of it, I might as well not have been wearing a glove. Yuck. And I thought the duck pond smelled bad.

Despite being a chicken farmer for over a year now, I realized today that I’m not wholly familiar with their diet. Insects, grains, and plants, yes. Cute little field mice? Really? And was it necessary to kill it, gut it, then swallow it like an anaconda eating a goat right in front of me? I had flashbacks to that horrible day when the duck ate the frog. At least the field mouse didn’t get a chance to wave good bye to me while hanging out of Nikki’s beak… he went quick. To make up for the horror of watching the food chain in gory, stomach-wrenching action, I decided to see if the critters would like pumpkin. Gene had prepared one to be carved, and I saved the innards. The ducks went absolutely nuts for it, as did the chickens. I finally found the one treat the rabbits won’t eat, though. They put up such a fuss about not having a palatable snack that I made Gene go to the feed store and get them their favorite granola honey sticks.

Harvey and Claire are not destined to be roommates for much longer; Harvey has finally figured out which is Claire’s “business end”, as it were, so we need to separate them. Although Claire is capable of reproducing now, the literature I’ve consulted (okay, I looked online), recommended separating them at four to five months, then allowing them to date at eight months. Of course, the upshot of all my Internet research means more work for Gene, as he now needs to build Harvey a suitable bachelor pad. My grand plan is to allow them each access to the ground level of the Bunny Ranch on alternating days. I’m sure they won’t mind, because their separate areas have more than enough room to frolic and run around. I’m even pondering the merits of procuring another male and female, just so they don’t get lonely, but the thought of that many baby bunnies is a little daunting. Cute, but daunting.

Today was absolutely beautiful. Every where I looked there were animals peacefully basking in the sunshine. All except one. Christmas spent most of her day parked in front of the kennel, staring hungrily at Sean Paul and Marley, the little roosters. If she was capable of it, she would have been drooling. She’s rapidly convincing me that she will be first to nestle amongst the mashed potatoes and gravy. I heard a ruckus yesterday, and ran outside to find Christmas and King Julian having another row through the fence. Christmas was chittering like a demonic wind up toy, and King Julian’s feathers were standing straight out from his neck. He would stick his neck through the holes and hang from Christmas’s head. It was horrible. It was hard to decide which one I was less scared of, but I finally opted for shoving Christmas back with my boot. She would immediately run back to the fence though, so I changed tactics and booted King Julian. That distracted him from Christmas, but then he decided to go after me. I ran away from the fence, and I’m faster than him, so crisis averted.

Unfortunately it took King Julian a few fights to realize Christmas is not a turkey  accustomed to losing. I went outside to find poor King Julian’s long fancy tail spread all over the yard, right in front of the fence. On the plus side, he now completely ignores Christmas, but he sure does look ridiculous. I hope his feathers grow back soon, because aesthetically he’s quite lopsided. Christmas, on the other hand, is walking around congratulating herself on how tough she is. She has started parking her butt right inside the kennel door at night when I go to feed them, so poor Thanksgiving can’t get to his food. He is far too uncoordinated to maneuver around her – he’s so fat forward is really his only option. He just bumps up against her, then stares at his food bowl looking confused by the fact he’s not eating yet. Since I’m still one-handed, I can’t just pick her up and move her, and truthfully I’m a bit afraid to bend down within eye-pecking level anyway. I don’t have the heart to kick her, even though she totally deserves it, so I usually just climb over Thanksgiving, put my boot up against her and slide her across the floor. Which is quite the workout, given her girth. 
Oddly enough she isn’t a complete pig when I dispense treats; I really think she knows her name because if I say, “Here, Christmas”, she’ll eat that treat, and not chase after everyone else’s morsels. The all around favorite is apple and grape slices. All the critters, even the ducks, recognize what the white bowls mean, and the minute I step off the deck with one there’s a stampede to the pasture gate. Literally, a stampede. I need to take a video of it, because few people have witnessed the spectacle of 6 ducks, 2 goats, 2 turkeys, and 11 chickens rampaging toward them. Treat dispensing isn’t something to be done lightly, however. Thanks to Christmas, you can’t let your hands dangle down within her reach, because she’ll mistake your fingers for grape slices. Or she just likes to bite. Either way, you’ll need a Band-Aid.

Harvey and Claire also get excited whenever I walk into the Bunny Ranch with a bowl. They will both zoom around the perimeter, then barrel up the ladder to see what I brought them. They are also partial to grapes and apples. Gene says I have to figure out something we can grow here to give them as treats; apparently he doesn’t agree with me that the whole reason for earning a paycheck is to buy nutritious critter snacks. Really, how can you deprive something that cute of fresh apple slices?

We had two straight days of sunshine, which is rare for this time of year. All the critters were loving it; the ducks spent all day in the pond, and the goats found a sunny spot perfect for napping. Since it wasn’t raining, we decided to let the two Polish roosters out for a romp in the pasture. They weren’t too sure about their new found freedom, especially when King Julian noticed them through the fence. They also needed a dedicated Christmas-minder, because for some reason the female turkey is not terribly friendly. Right before Gene put the metal grate across the A-frame, I heard a loud fuss and ran into the kennel to find the white Silkie hanging from Christmas’s beak. Now that they’ve been separated, she’s taken to hungrily staring through the kennel door. And don’t worry, the Silkie is fine. Although you can see him shudder whenever Christmas squawks.

We also let Harvey and Claire out for a spin around the yard. Claire got about half a foot outside, looked around, then went back to her food bowl. Harvey, on the other hand, cruised all over the place. He can really move for such a roly-poly thing. He also required constant minding, since we didn’t want to have to fish him out from under the deck, or out of the brambles. At least we didn’t have to worry about predators with him, I don’t think even an eagle could carry him off.

I know they’re big bunnies (Harvey is about ten pounds at only three months), but the amount of food they eat still amazes me. I can put half a bowl of cut grapes or mini carrots down, and by the time I get the door shut it’s pretty much devoured.  I’m going to have to grow a lot of veggies in the greenhouse this winter, because they are quite accustomed to being presented with an array of fresh produce every day. Gene says I spoil them, but he says that about all the critters.

Speaking of critters to spoil, exciting news! We got three new ducks! We (and by ‘we’, I mean ‘I’) decided that what the farm desperately needed was more ducks. I found three drakes for sale, which matches up perfectly with our three girls. We brought them home in apple crates. The Bedonkaduck, Paris, and Nikki were immediately intrigued, especially after I yelled, “Look! I have boxes full of boys!” The drakes, named Bear (because he survived a bear attack when he was three months old), Smudge, and Daffy, absolutely love their new home. They spent two solid days playing in the pond. When I went to check on them shortly after their arrival, a pool party was in full swing. All six of them were happily paddling around, and bikini tops were flying everywhere.