Celebrating Labor Day with friends, food, and lots of chicken-holding.
Category: farm
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That was some party
Okay, not really.
Our friend Mark (Eleanor’s dad) called a few weeks back, asking if I could take a picture of his wife smashing a bottle over his head.
A little further explanation revealed that on milestone birthdays, he does some great photo op. For his 30th birthday, he got thrown through a table. And this year, to celebrate his 40th, he ordered a bunch of prop bottles to be smashed over his head repeatedly.
We were happy to be one of many stops where we recreated some sort of bad bar scene.
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First egg!
It’s our very first egg!
The excitement around here was so insane that you would have thought we laid it ourselves. Neko couldn’t even hold still for me to get the egg in focus. So here you go: a very in-focus photo of Neko’s thumb, and a blurry photo of our first egg.
(It’s a brown one, so either James or Mosh are the big winners.)
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Neko avoiding bedtime
I was outside taking pictures of the chickens, when Neko appeared. I said if she sat still for one minute, I’d let her stay up for five more minutes.
She begrudgingly agreed. But really? She just wanted to play with chickens and repeatedly leap off the porch.
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In the midst
Good golly, it’s a whirlwind around here. A good whirlwind, filled with loads of new people, friendly faces, and inspiring ideas. But ohmygoodness my head is full.
The “models” were fantastic today. I’m always amazed that kids settle in and do well, even though they have 12 cameras pointed at them and clicking. But they do.
Barb and the whole crew are just as fantastic as everyone says they are, which makes me so happy that they’re here, but sad that they don’t live right around the corner.
It’s funny to see our quiet little farm buzzing with so much activity. I don’t think the dogs and chickens know what of make of it. I’m not even sure the kids fully realize there’s a workshop going on—I think they just assume the whole reason for this visit is a massive play date with their new Australian friends.
One of the best parts of all this has been to hear from so many people in such different points in their lives. I love to hear their stories and ideas and frustrations and dreams.
I find myself mostly sitting back and taking it all in.
Weirdly, one of my favorite shots of the day is the last one, of Mirin, which is technically wrong and the focus is on her hand, not her face, but something about it makes me smile bunches.
And then I think I loved it even more after visiting Tara Whitney’s site and reading such a forthright, honest post from a woman I admire greatly. Life is what it is, and we are what we are. And we need to embrace each bit of it, and one another, with honesty, clarity, purpose, and kindness.
On that philosophical note, I’m off to count some sheep…
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Holes
When I saw the big Bobcat sitting in the yard, I knew we were committed. The high tunnel is going up.
Okay, really we were committed when all the pieces got delivered and started hogging every square inch of the garage, making the kids’ attempts to retrieve a bicycle turn into some sort of high wire act. I so want the garage back.
Originally, Tom was going to build this big, beautiful garden with a fence and seating area and, oh, it was going to be lovely. But then we attended a gardening workshop, where we learned about high tunnels, and how you can garden year round. This whole concept was really exciting, as I once added up our grocery bills for the entire year and almost had a heart attack. Feeding five people a primarily organic, fruit and vegetable filled diet is crazy expensive. (Thus, the obesity epidemic.) After we visited another family who had their own high tunnel, the decision was made, and practicality won out over aesthetics.
Anyway, Tom’s brother John came into town and helped dig enormous holes in our rock-filled ground (hooray for perseverance and patience) which would hold the supports in several feet of concrete. Big thanks to John for helping out, and to Alicia for letting us borrow him.
Needless to say, by dusk we had ton of great big holes in our yard. And, omigoodness, the kids thought they were the most fun things ever. I’m going to add this to the list for my future toy store—big holes and dirt piles.
Addendum: My friend Libby, who has been in construction for ages, said these deep holes are actually quite unsafe for children to play in because they could collapse unless you have those cardboard tube thingies. Which we had, but not actually in the holes at that time. So when I sell holes at my toy store, they’ll come with those cardboard liners or, like, super-safe titanium liners. With lasers.
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Hammock
About a decade back, when we lived in the Big City, our neighbors Jeff and Sally had this amazing hammock. This hammock I loved. This hammock I wondered if maybe, in the dark of night, I could just move to our yard and no one would notice. Thing is, Jeff really loved that hammock, too, so I didn’t think it would pan out.
But this year, for Mother’s Day, Tom gave me a hammock. Well, he gave me a cheap hammock from Target, and permission to buy my dream hammock. You know, if I could find it.
It took me roughly two months, but i did track it down. Of course, it arrived just hours before Tom left town for the weekend, but I was so determined to enjoy that hammock this weekend, I muscled it together myself in 95 degree weather while watching three kids.
And today, while Ellery napped, I laid in the hammock. Shep and Neko took turns visiting me. We giggled and looked at clouds and took pictures. I had one of those moments where I couldn’t imagine anywhere I’d rather be.
And then a chicken pooped on us, and we all had to go inside and clean up.
But I still can’t imagine anywhere I’d rather be.
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And then there were four
On Sunday we were finally settling into being home. Still unpacking, we were due to pick up the dogs from the kennel on Monday.
I was unloading groceries from the car when I heard some strange sounds from the woods. On the hot days, the chickens have been spending time in the woods to keep cool. I looked around for the chickens, but they were nowhere to be found.
After a bit more hunting, we saw the chickens begin to emerge from the woods—one, two, three, four. There was no fifth. Professor Clucks was missing. And I had an awful feeling about it.
Tom found her a bit later, obviously victim to a predator. I think we hadn’t realized how much Daisy and all her barking had been keeping danger at bay. In her absence, a predator got close enough to strike.
We buried her in the butterfly garden. Everyone in the family cried. Shep was downright inconsolable. I can’t believe we got so attached to these chickens in such a short amount of time, but, arg, they’ve worked their way into our hearts.
On the day she arrived, we weren’t sure Professor Clucks would make it until evening. She proved us wrong, and even though she was small, she kept up with the others. A favorite of nearly everyone on account of her cuddly size. Our own little underdog.
So now when I lock up the coop each night, and do my head count, I only count to four. Which still feels wrong. But I hear this is the nature of life with chickens.
We’ll miss ya, Professor.
