Nightlife

Picture from wikipedia

We have a sort of 'rule' around here: During the day, we and our livestock get to rule. At night, while we sun-loving creatures slumber, nocturnal animals have full reign. We just make sure that everyone we want alive the next morning is protected which sometimes means going out at 11:30 to bring in the chickens since we all forgot to close the door...

What sort of critters do we have running around at night? Well, there's always the local troop of coyotes that sing to the moon and keep chicken and barn cat populations in check, there's the family of owls that question each other across the ravine every night (one happens to perch in the woods next to our house), then there's bats, bobcats, and skunks (these guys are evil to chickens. I won't disclose the gruesome acts that they are capable of). So, I guess what I'm trying to say is, there is quite a night life out here. There is always someone voicing their opinions on something or announcing something for all to hear.

But there will be some nights that are oddly quiet. There's a sort of eerie silence that percolates deep into your imagination and makes the perfect setting for a horror story. Then you hear a scream from across the field. A long, high pitched, sustained, unearthly scream. The scream is too full and well rounded to be a child's scream and too long and sustained to be a woman's. What on earth could it be?! My brother and I give each other a quick glance at each other. The dog has already run up to the house. We make a break for it. As we're running up the hill on one side, the scream is going up on the other. We make it to the side door and slam it behind us. That was the most terrifying trip to take out the garbage - ever. Then, we grab our parents to listen. Silence.

A couple days later, our neighbor down the hill asked us if we had heard a scream because her husband thought that she was hearing things. We sure heard it alright. Commence research. Could it have been an alpaca from down the road? No. Rabbit? Nope. Coyotes? They don't scream; they howl and wail (confession - I find myself confusing sirens for coyotes when I'm in town). Then we found a clip of a cougar scream. Not the stereotypical, Hollywood movie sound, but the real thing. It sounded exactly the same. We had never heard of a cougar in our area. That was news to us. As we talked with neighbors and others on the mountain, we found out that, yes, there is a cougar that comes through occasionally. A local business man noticed that the deer population was smaller then normal. The neighbor from across the way got some pictures of a cougar on his trail cam down by the creek at the bottom of the ravine. Oy vey. Mom went into freaky mode - never go outside by yourself. Even if it's just for chores; take someone with you. Oh, and take the dog with you for good measure.

Then, the cougar disappeared for about a year and a half. That cat caused quite a stir here on the hill. Everyone seems to have their story of 'when the cougar was around.' We thought that we had heard the last of it. But it would not be so. Last summer, someone (who lived across the road from the pasture where our friend keeps her dairy cows) found a deer leg in the driveway. That was quite the 'good morning' - better than coffee. Someone from the Fish and Wildlife Services came out to confirm everyone's suspicions. There is only one predator that would consume prey of that size. It was back. But just as suddenly it came; it left. No other events that we heard about. But this is confirmed cougar territory.

Now, what I want to know is what did they do with that deer leg? :P

{inspiration}

Dozens...

Bird brains. You never really can understand what goes on behind those eyes. Sometimes they appear to be very dim bulbs indeed. Other times, they must think that we're the stupid ones.

We've been getting this certain brand of chicken feed that was completely organic, corn free, soy free, etc, etc, etc... and it was based on raw split peas and legumes. Sounds pretty good huh? These chickens were living the dream; at least I thought. For years the spring chicks would get to about 12-15 months and stop laying eggs altogether. Why? Why do the girls always go on strike when they get that old? Do they reach some know-it-all, rebellious teenager stage at this point? I didn't think so.

What do you know about raw legumes and digestion for humans? Raw legumes are an anti-nutrient; they pull nutrients out of the body as you digest them. And I knew that. But the thought hadn't exactly translated over to chickens. Poor girls. A friend of mine brought that to my attention. She brought it on herself as a personal task to figure out why the chickens weren't laying.

So we sought out a different feed for the poultry products. And we found one that will work for now. It's not organic, but it will do for now.

The chicken are laying more than 2 dozen eggs a day. Even though we've been trying to be creative with egg uses (lots of hard boiled eggs, egg salad sandwiches, mayonnaise, etc), we have quite the surplus of eggs right now. I think that the chickens are happy now.

Peanut sauce w/o the peanuts

I"m on a diet. The 'Primal Diet' to be exact. Meat, veggies, more meat, a little fruit, even more veggies, seeds/nuts, and then some more meat with a salad on the side. You eat like ancient man. Do I agree with the philosophy and basis of the diet? No. The constant references to evolution are bugging me. Do I think that it's a healthier way to eat? Yes. Grains, starches, legumes, and sugars have always been in my life, and I've paid the price. At least that's what the lab results are saying.

But if one is to only eat certain foods, won't it get boring? Oh yes. That's where the cookbooks come in handy. They are the spice of life, quite literally. Take broccoli for example. How long could you eat steamed broccoli and it stay interesting? Well, search no farther. Your green florets will take a little trip to SE Asia with this little (altered) recipe from Mark Sisson's book Quick and Easy Meals on page 67.

You will need:
- Broccoli (enough for the whole clan to have a hefty serving or two)
- 1 T rice wine vinegar
- 5 T almond butter
- 1/2 T honey
- 1 T toasted sesame oil
- 2 T tamari (soy sauce w/o the grain)
- 1/4 tsp chili oil (the original recipe calls for double that; my tongue would not forgive me if I used that much)
- water

Cut the broccoli into florets. Steam the greenies until it reaches desired tenderness.

Mix remaining ingredients execpt the water together in food processor until they form a smooth, albeit thick, dressing. Slowly add the water, tablespoon by tablespoon, until it reaches desired consistency. You will only need about 3-4 T of water.

Double the recipe. You'll want more.

Enjoy! You can use this as a veggie dip for carrots, drizzle it over your meat (it is most excellent with grilled chicken), or whatever you want to put it on! Hmm... wonder how it tastes on chocolate.

Chocolate Chips

It seemed to be a normal trip. Go to the food, pick up the food, haul the food home, unload the food, put all the food away. Done deal, right? Nope. Well, actually, yes, except for the last little bit.

I had just poured in an entire 1 lb. bag into the chocolate chip container in the pantry but the chips looked ever so slightly different. Only one way to investigate: taste test. Lo-and-behold, what I thought were chocolate chips were not chocolate chips at all. They were carob chips.

Now, before I proceed, you must understand my relationship with chocolate. I love it. The darker the better. I get antioxidants and endorphin releasing powers running through my system. Carob on the other hand is a chocolate impostor. You take a handful of the bits only to be thoroughly disappointed when your taste buds react to the not-so-chocolate-y-ness. Bleh.

Back to the story. We needed to return the bag since it obviously wasn't what we thought it was. There was only one problem - the carobs had mingled with the chocolates. I had just unintentionally created much more work than I had anticipated. I handpicked every piece of carob and put it into its rightful bag to return. An entire pound of the things. Oy. This was a job that required chocolate and patience. But I survived with the help of chocolate which was conveniently at hand if I picked out the carob.

Goodnight!

RIP Kevin?

Y'all read about Kevin, right? You'll want to catch up here.

We were bringing in the chickens. And the geese. And Kevin. Yeah, she still gets her own room in the barn -  complete with heat lamp for those really cold nights. Anyways... We searched the entire barn for Kevin that night. No Kevin. We looked outside the barn. Still no Kevin. We checked in the carport. And still no Kevin. We searched the barn again. Even the loft. Yet again, no Kevin.

What were we to do? Chickens are coyote fodder around here. They're fair game for any predator that comes around.

We just about decided that if Kevin didn't come in, she wouldn't be in that night. If she was at the barn door in the morning, all the better. That would save some tears from certain someones the next day.

I don't know what impulse told me to check over by the garbage cans in the barn, but I did. There was only one can open at the time, and I heard a faint cooing coming from inside. Lo-and-behold, Kevin was inside. Goodness knows why she decided to roost in a garbage can for the night, but she did. Now she just roosts on the gate and saves us some hassle come bed time.

So long for now!
~*SG*~

Rescue

Living on a Christmas tree farm, you'd think that we'd bring the biggest, fattest, tallest tree in the field into the house. That is an urban myth. It is my duty now to dispel of such thoughts. Last year, we didn't even have a tree. This year, we have a rescue. 

When an oven decides to smell of electrical burning, Mom sends everyone outside so that we don't breathe in the stench. We finished our chores. We really couldn't think of anything else to do. Then someone suggested that we go find our tree! Brilliant idea, I say! So off we went a-tromping through the field. We found several trees that sort of met the strict criteria, and we couldn't agree on any single tree (of course). Then, as we were headed back to home base, there it was - a lonely, slain tree sitting out there in the middle of the field severed from its life source. Someone must have cut it and found a better one, poor thing. There was only one thing to do with it. Give it some love and bring it into the house. We trimmed off the lower branches, gave the tree a shake, took fifteen minutes to cut an inch off the stump, and stood the tree up in it's stand. 

It looked pathetic. It couldn't decide if it would be a Charlie Brown tree or a Dr. Seuss tree. And my sister hated it from the get-go. She now hates me for bringing it into the house. Maybe she'll hate her Christmas present just as much. :P

Meanwhile, my brother, who has the highest standard that a Christmas tree can attain, was away at college classes. He had no clue what we were doing. His facial expression when he walked in the door was priceless. Appalled. Sheer shock. He also hated the poor tree. 

Despite the vocalizations of dislike, we strung lights up and decorated it. It didn't look as bad, but the top was still on the funky side. 

Oh well!  

At least we have a tree this year. 

Merry Christmas everyone!

A Mini Christmas Tree

Kids. Ya gotta love 'em. They have very different ideas about things than what you (the adult) could even begin to imagine. 

Case in point:

Today, as a family was getting out of their vehicle, one of the kids was begging for a mini Christmas tree. My dad offered the parents a killer deal for a small second tree, and they agreed. They successfully slayed the first tree and began hunting for the next. As they were tromping through the field the child picked up one of the sheared off tree tops and declared that he had found the perfect mini Christmas tree. The 'tree' was just the over-achieving efforts of a tree to be tall that was taken off. It really was just a stick covered with some needles and some stem buds, perfectly straight. Smaller than a Christmas tree seedling. Not even big enough to consider a Charlie Brown tree. But it was perfect. The little boy came back skipping and ever so happy about finding the perfect mini-tree. 

I will most certainly have more tales to tell from the Christmas tree farm adventures. Stay tuned. 

Kevin

There once was a baby chicken. She was not like the other 50 chicks that she was shipped with. You see, when someone orders over fifty chickens from the hatchery, they send you a free, 'rare' bird with the order. When the box arrived, there were 50 Cornish crosses and this special little black chick. No on could figure out what breed she was or if it was a he or a she! For her first 10 weeks of life, she grew up with the disgusting meat birds; always the smallest of the bunch (Cornish cross grow at a ridiculous, unnatural rate). Well, the time came for her ugly white accomplices to leave forever. I don't think that she misses them that terribly, but she took a certain liking to me. I never gave her any special attention, nor was I the primary caretaker. 

With her freaky mail-order friends now gone, we needed to integrate her into our existing flock. They didn't take a particular liking to her at all. With all the hen-pecking going on, she kept close to me while I was doing the chores. I walked across the driveway, and she followed me. I walked back to the barn, and she ran after me. The other hens started giving her a hard time, and she flew right up onto my shoulder and sat down. Then I walked back across the yard, and she stayed on my shoulder. I filled water buckets and she sat right on top of the well head watching me. I tried to set up a small pen for her on the lawn and she flew right out and ran after me again. But that's not all - she even sat at the front door all afternoon trying to get into the house. 

This chicken needed a different name. Eli had originally named it 'Waspus.' Ask the 7 year-old what he was thinking when he named it that. But yesterday afternoon, we decided that she needed a new name to fit this outgoing personality. It was unanimous; the bird's new name would be 'Kevin' after the bird in Disney Pixar's 'Up.' 

And yes, Kevin is a girl. 

The First Waltz

~*The Victoria and Albert Ball*~

November nineteen, two thousand and eleven

Victorian Era ball attire, or modern white tie required

A lovely chair in the bridal suite where we got ready for the ball

Waltzing

The ballgown

So many pretty dresses! I'm going to have to see if I can figure out how to draw this picture. Hmm...

There was even a billiards room

The ballroom

Hoop skirts and stairs don't work out too well.

Live music!

It was such a lovely evening! There's something about all the men wearing black tuxedo and all the ladies wearing their finest that made the entire night feel like a scene from a movie. We had all put so much time and effort into planning out gowns, and yet the evening flew by in an instant! I hope we can have more formal balls in the future!