Goldfish, Peonies, and Tadpoles

I am gonna pretend that Sunday was just a blip.  Spring is here, and fighting off Winter with all Her might.  She might be a little muddy now, Her dress might be torn, Her shoes, totally ruined.  But She did a smack down on Winter; because I spent this afternoon, and Friday afternoon without a coat, outside, watching Her shake out Her hair and wonder where Her hat is.

Okay, that was muddled, and there is a reason for that.  We are in the season for mud.  I am so glad I had all autumn and winter to come to embrace my muckers.  I wear them everywhere.  I keep a pair of "city" shoes in the car.

Anyway.  Oh, to be outside, in the sun!  What a joy!  The Boy and I took advantage of the dead and still-wintered weeds and vines surrounding the pond and followed the usually inaccessible deer paths... and it was worth it.  We saw the pond from the other side.  It was a fantastic view!

We observed no fewer than four schools of goldfish in the pond.  We came upon some really odd scat (that has defied my Internet skills to identify), and several animal holes along the deer paths.  We also took souvenirs:  I gathered several wild-blackberry thorns, and the Boy got his first tick of the season.

But it was worth it.  Observing the duck and his mate.  Figuring out that the goldfish were busily devouring floating eggs on the surface.  Coming across the slightly worse-for-wear snowdrops, and the fledgling crocuses.  And only last week, I took a moonlit stroll through the field and disturbed several splashy swimming things at the pond.  I couldn't see them, but I suspect that it might be otters!  There is no scientific basis whatsoever other than a whim.

Today (because I am ignoring Sunday, which was Winter's dying gasp), it was a school holiday, so the Boy and I spent the afternoon outside.  I did some long overdue clearing of the garden, and also used the net to clear out the pond...

You catch tadpoles that way.  Lots and lots of tadpoles.  I picked them up with my bare hand and dropped them back in the pond.

Did you read that?

I PICKED THEM UP WITH MY BARE HAND AND DROPPED THEM BACK IN THE POND!

After I did that the first time, I wondered who the hell I was today!  City Kitty doesn't go outside to pick up a fallen branch without gloves on.

Hydrangea buds; Dead heads

And yet, I continued gardening without gloves.  I clipped the hydrangea heads from last year, carefully clipping ABOVE all the buds coming out already.  There were even leaves.  I am ashamed.  And then I used a small rake to clear out the leaf piles...and found that the peonies are unfurling their stems already.

New and old peonies

I LOVE PEONIES!!

And while I was doing all this, the Boy decided that he was tired of waiting on me to do the research on raising tadpoles.  He found a small tub, added water from the pond, placed a few rocks, and caught his tadpole.

I finally did the research.  We'll be raising a tadpole starting on Wednesday, I think.  First I have to boil lettuce.  It's a thing they like.  Apparently.

Can you tell that I needed a little bit of Spring?  I feel like I am buzzing on Spring.  I see green covering the lawns and, where there is NOT a mud wallow, pretty green spikes of bulbs pushing out of the soil.  

I feel like one of those bulbs, finally warming up, reaching for the sun, about to bloom...  Yep.  I am high on sun, the best drug of all.

Winter Is Out To Get City Kitty

See, I was just thinking I had a snow hangover.  You know what I mean.  Too much snow, too much ice, too many low temperatures.  My enjoyment of winter shot past the happy buzz place, into the I'm-falling-all-over-my-feet phase, and is now throwing up into the snow.

But Winter shot past the, "Ha ha, City Kitty lives on a farm, here's the real experience," to the, "Let's kill City Kitty because she's hiding in the farmhouse, missing the true misery we've been trying to inflict upon her, and now we need to drag her out by her hair and slaughter her."

The gloves have come off...literally.  Old Man Winter and the Weather Witch hooked up and have it in for me.

They found me in the sunroom...

I thought I was safe inside...

I'm scared...  I don't think a hairdryer is gonna save me this time.

Chills, Thrills, and Squirrels

[Warning.  First, while this is NOT another chicken story, the chickens are part of the background.  Second, those sensitive readers whom I've not already scared off, might want to consider skipping this entry and wait for another spider story.]

Just a day, just an ordinary day.  The Husband teleworked today, and I was working at my normal spot in the breakfast nook, lost in my writing.  From this seat, I can see the little frog pond, and the pretty garden (that looks like a winter nightmare currently), and in the background, across the drive, the chicken coop.  I won't brag on the four foot snowpile to my left, because today was just too darned warm and sunny.

I came to from my writing coma to hear the strident clucking from Leia.  I looked up, and she was standing at the top of the stone chicken path, just outside the door.  Clucking like a fiend.  Now, she is kind of a drama queen, so I figured she was just calling to the other girls to wait up.  I watched her walk away, and dove back in.

Some time later, I heard another mad clucking.  It was Ginger or Peaches, doing the same thing.  Just standing at the door, making an ungodly amount of noise.  I finally got up to go to the door to see what was causing such a ruckus.  As Ginger (or Peaches!) strutted off, I saw the culprit.  A squirrel sat up on the roof of the chicken coop, and as she moved away, it scrambled down the side of the building and THROUGH THE CHICKEN DOOR.

Well, that bugged me like you wouldn't believe.  While chicken feed is not grossly expensive, it still costs money.  And at least the chickens are offsetting the cost by laying lots of eggs.  Little Squirrel, I suspected, would NOT be laying eggs for me.  I decided to take action.

I just happen to own a terrifying huntress.  She's taken down over a dozen animals in her life, and she doesn't even make a mess doing it.  She is a good strong animal, horrifying to all...  Her name is Amy the Killer... Black Lab Mix.

Yeah, she's taken down lots of rabbits and chipmunks, even a vole.  She's terrified the groundhogs, and even tried to take down the deer.  I thought she might just be terrifying to the squirrel.  

I got my muckers on, got the dog, and walked up, bold as brass, to that open door.  I leaned in, and found that squirrel just munching away at the chicken feeder.  He didn't even look up.  My crazy side took over.

"Hey, squirrel!  I see you!"

He jumped about a foot in the air, sending that feeder spinning.  He ran for the door... except I was standing there, grinning at him.  Amy was standing next to me, terribly excited.  The squirrel changed direction, and then ran for the door again.  I was still standing there.

And there we were.  I wanted Amy to chase it, teach it a lesson.  But Amy could not get through that door.  And the squirrel wouldn't go through that door.

And the reality of the situation hit me.  This was no cute little incident.  This squirrel knew what was there.  He could be chased away by me or Amy, but he would come back.  And he would eat just as much (if not more) than the chickens.

I decided to let Amy into the coop.

I won't regale you with what ensued for the next five minutes.  Amy kept that squirrel running round and round the coop, bouncing from roost to rafter to straw, behind the storage bins, and back.  Amy caught it once, and it bit her or clawed her such that she let out an outraged whine.

Eventually, though, he got tired enough that he didn't scramble quite fast enough, and Amy had him.  She subdued him, and carried him outside.  He wasn't quite dead, because Amy rarely actually kills anything, except by accident.  (She's just like Lenny from "Of Mice and Men":  I will love him and hold them and call him George... oops, he's not moving anymore.)

He wasn't dead, but he was barely moving, so we had to put the guy out of his misery.  I've had to do that on countless occasions.

I have done some reading, and I think I may start mixing chili pepper flakes in the food.  After all, one squirrel means Legion.

But, all in all, I am proud of Amy.  Even at 10 years old this year, she has still got it.  Go Amy!  We are proud of you!

"Killer" Amy and the Damsels in Distress

Spring is Coming!

Yeah, I know we're getting hit with another 10 inches today (depending on which forecast you choose the believe).  So what?  Another day, another snow.  I saw the snowdrops in bloom this weekend, and that is way more interesting than actual snowflakes!

Instead of moaning about the drifts of snow which will cover the drifts of snow from last week, I will describe all the drifts of seed catalogs, and the plans for our garden.  Because we will be preparing the gardens and starting seedlings this month.

In truth, the catalogs have been coming since November.  I recycled dozens in the afternoons before the Husband ever walked in the door to ask, "What's in the mail?"  All so I could say, "Nothing", since the mail had long since been sorted into piles for Country Kitty and family, recycling, keep, and shred, thus sparing me thinking about planting a garden four months away or more.

But, in December, he caught me.  So, the seed catalogs began going into a "save" pile.  I'd let the pile get to six inches before I'd sort the duplicates and recycle them.  (I like recycling!).  On through January...and into February.

Now there is a pile, and when March looms, you know April is close behind, and that is when you plant!  So, last week, the Husband and I found ourselves leaning over the kitchen bar, making non-committal noises as we flipped through various catalogs:  The Cooks Garden, Burpee, Kitchen Garden Seeds, etc. 

ME:  So, what are we planting this year?

HIM:  Well, you posted that corn, bean, squash companion photo online, and it's here in this book. (holds up "Roots, Shoots, Buckets and Boots")

ME:  (flipping through the "hot" peppers in one catalog) These peppers are lame.

HIM:  (handing me the Territorial Seed Company catalog) Well, look at this catalog.

ME:  Oooooo.  So, what are we planting this year?

HIM:  Well, what do you want to plant?

ME:  Six jalapeno plants was not enough.  I need more.

HIM:  I thought you said those weren't spicy.

ME:  They weren't.  I want to at least double it, but with serranos!

HIM:  Twelve?

ME:  Yeah, I am going through a pint of canned jalepenos in 10 days!  I need at least...maybe 20.  Yeah, 20 hot pepper plants.  That way I can do salsa too.

HIM:  Can we do some mild ones?

ME:  No, those are useless...

HIM:  (pointed look)

ME:  Unless you and the Boy might want to eat them.  Yes!  Let me start a list!

So, we started a list.
YE OLDE OFFICIAL GARDENING LIST:

• 15-20 hot peppers (Serranos and a few banana)
• 8+ Romas... or any good sauce tomato
• 1 Grape tomato... even though I don't keep up with them
• 1 Early Girl, just because.

ME:  Okay, what else?

HIM:  The corn thing?

ME:  (scribbling down corn, pole beans, squash)  Oh yeah, I totally need to plant butternut squash again.  And double what we did last year!  Oh, and spaghetti squash!

HIM:  Cukes--

ME:  And zukes!  Oh, and peas.  And I want lettuce.  Maybe a salad mix, with kale and beets.  Carrots!  We could try onions again, why not?  Wanna do cabbage?

HIM:  Sure, but---

ME:  Oh, and we have to do the melons again!  Do the Alvaro melon, and canary.  Hmm, what about watermelon?

HIM:  Maybe, do you think---

ME:  The Boy will totally want strawberries.

HIM:  Did you want to buy all these as plants?

ME:  Noooooo!  We have to start these all from seeds!  Well, maybe not the tomatoes.  No, I can do it!  Although, I'm really lazy, and I don't know how many plants we need to start like that.  Hmm, I know Country Kitty left her seedling starters here  somewhere?  Sheesh, but I hate having so many seedlings that I don't use.  Oh, maybe, I could just start the melons directly in the compost heap.  Ha ha, just kidding.  Oh gosh, do you think the Boy will want to do pumpkins again?  Hmmm, is this list too long?  Well, we do have both garden plots this year.  I don't know, what do you think?

By this point, the Husband had wandered off, because his presence was apparently no longer required, as I'd already taken all the catalogs, the pad and the pencil.  Plus, I was doing all the talking.

So, the planning is going beautifully, and wow, we started before March!  We're ahead of the game!  Woohoo!!  Cuz, Spring is coming!

Cleaning a Chicken Coop

For those of you who know me, I am NOT a domestic goddess.  I've learned to cook because I like controlling ingredients.  It is rarely beautiful food, but it tastes beautiful.  For the same reason, I do not bake.  I mostly have no interest in sugary, pretty desserts.  I don't even know how to make pudding.

Cleaning?  Well, mostly I'm the kind of kitty who grabs a cleaning wipe and scrubs off the accumulated toothpaste spit from the faucet.  In order for a thorough cleaning to happen, like when your parents are coming to visit, well... one of my parents has to be coming to visit.  I'm more of a tidy girl--I hate disorder.  When I go on a tear, no one can find anything but me since I have done the unthinkable and put everything back where it belongs.  But dammit, it looks nice again.

Yardwork?  I am prime lazy.  I mow as infrequently as possible, and I design my garden beds so I don't HAVE to weed.  Or water.

But I got a bee in my bonnet this last weekend, and decided that Saturday, the Boy and I were gonna clean up the chicken coop.

See, when we got the pullets last month (those would be Acid, Mocha, and Elasta-Girl), the established girls (Ginger, Peaches, Vader and Leia) decided that no new chicken could walk on the floor.  Or eat from the feeder.  Or drink from the waterer.  I kicked the old girls outside into the cold in order to give the new girls a break from living in the nesting boxes and on the shelf over the nesting boxes.  I set out an alternate dish of food so they wouldn't starve, and placed a dish of melting snow up there so they had more access to water.  I finally had to rearrange the whole layout of the coop, and that did the job.  They are all sharing space now, although Leia still tries to nip at Mocha occasionally.

But while the pullets were living in fear, they pooped EVERYWHERE.  The nesting boxes, once filled with clean pine shavings, were now filled with poop.  The shelf had several layers of chicken poop.  Even the ledge along the big windows had chicken poop all over it.

I tried cleaning the ledge once, but found out that really cold temps mean that chicken poop gets hard, and clings to the wooden boards.

Saturday was supposed to get up over 60.  

The Boy and I were prepared, and looked oh-so-fashionable.  Muck boots, old jeans, work gloves, dust masks, and hats.  I had a big shovel, a small shovel, a garden cart, a gardening rake, 2 trowels, a hand-held rake, and a putty knife.

We emptied out all the nesting boxes and dumped the shavings and the poop in an old compost heap.  Then we filled the boxes with fresh pine shavings.  Prettier all ready!  The Boy took on the task of using the putty knife to scrape the layers of poop off every surface he could find.  He just wanted to use a knife.  He performed admirably, even filling a pot with the scrapings.  While he did that, I got the garden rake and dug out the 52" of poop from under the roosting stick.  That was a LOT of poop encrusted hay, but once it was gone, I turned over all the remaining hay.  I hauled all the yuck into another compost heap.  When that was done, I cleaned out the waterer again.  Finally, I looked around, thinking how pretty the coop was again, now that the surfaces and pine shavings weren't encrusted with poop.

I wanted clean surfaces in the chicken coop.
I wanted CLEAN surfaces in the chicken coop.
I wanted clean SURFACES in the chicken coop.
Why would I want clean surfaces in the chicken coop?  They are chickens.  Chickens poop.

I cannot explain myself.  Just like I cannot explain why I haven't  vacuumed the front room since before Christmas.  Well, that I can explain, actually.  When we keep tracking in snow and mud and ice, despite our best efforts, you just wait.  At least that is what I'm doing.

So the farmhouse is un-dusted and un-vacuumed, and yeah, there is still wrapping paper in the dining room.  But gosh darnit, I have a nice clean chicken coop.

Resilience

Resilience: the capacity to recover quickly from difficulties; toughness.

We just had a major snow event (as in, a foot and a half of snow).  And I survived.  The Weather Witch drew no blood.  Well, some blood was spilled, but it was from common carelessness, and certainly not an elevator full of blood.

I am frankly surprised I did as well as I did.  Country Kitty told me that, back during the Snowpocalypse of 2010, they didn't get off the farm for TWO WEEKS.  And the forecasts for the Lovelanche (Love+Avalanche... I totally think that is a stupid name for the storm, but the interwebs never lie.) were showing up to two feet of snow.  I should have been full of dread.

But I wasn't.  I had stocked up ahead of time, so we had plenty of milk and fruit.  We already have a well stocked freezer, and we buy TP at Costco, so we are set well into May.  We had already purchased our generator and tested it.  I felt... prepared. Ish.  All I had to do the day before the snow was to prepare the chicken coop, and figure out some way to cover the generator in the event we needed to run it while it was snowing.

Wednesday, the day before the Lovelanche was to begin, didn't begin particularly well.  The recycling center was full, so I had to bring home two big bags of recycling.  The sump pump outflow hose had frozen again... and there was a wading pool in the cellar.  It should have been a relatively small issue... but it wasn't.  I had to pour hot water into the outside end of the hose and move it around to get the ice chunks loosened.  I also hauled out my nice, professional grade hair dryer in an attempt to warm the hose.  No dice.  I eventually had to set up the old sump pump, attach it to a garden hose, and snake it up the cellar stairs, out the dining room window, and across the yard.  River in the middle of the front yard?  Check.  I had muddy boots and shirt, wet gloves, and an open window in 30 degree temps.  But dammit, I no longer had an increasing flood in the basement.

It didn't take long to deal with the chickens, but I still hadn't begun the genny shelter, and it was already long after noon.  I had already decided that I would use part of the dismantled scaffolding in the corn crib.  But I had to figure out how to cover that structure in such a way that two feet of snow wouldn't destroy.  I also had to move the frame and cross braces all by myself.  It was exhausting, and my muscles were trembling by the time I had carried them all the way to the location we'd picked. 

After lunch, I had the pleasure of trying to erect scaffolding by myself.  (NOT a one-person job.) Moving it into place over the generator was hilarious.  By the time the bus delivered my son, I had it placed, and was glad to accept the Boy's help in building the roof.  I tell you, there was something comical about an exhausted woman and a 7 year old carrying a big sheet of 3/4" plywood all the way across the semi-icy barnyard and back yard, and then maneuvering it to the generator site.

I had to use more brains than brawn to get it in place--there was no way the Boy could help me lift it up to the cross braces (I needed a raked ceiling, so the snow could slide down rather than pile up.)  I managed, and then we had the excellent adventure of extracting the big tarp from the ice and frozen cardboard on top of it.  (Frozen cardboard is terrifyingly heavy AND inflexible.  Never, ever, kick it.) Getting the tarp in place was also hilarious, although my sense of humor was too tired to laugh by then.  But, here you see the fruits of my labor!  It wasn't pretty, but it did the job!

But, there was an unexpected bit of good news.  In dealing with the sump pump, I was outside under the front porch, wiggling that hose back and forth as I tried to loosen the ice, when I heard a rustling in the leaves under the porch.  I know we get skunks sometimes, so I backed away, and then took a careful look around the space.  As my eyes adjusted, I saw a brownish shape moving.  And then I recognized it.  It was Acid.

I don't know how that damn chicken survived 5 nights outside in below freezing temperatures, all by herself.  Nor do I know what she was eating, or why she didn't join the other girls when they were outside.  But she was there, healthy and more than willing to come out from under the porch.  I walked her back to the coop, and she hopped inside and seemed quite ready to eat.

So, we have seven girls again, but I notice that the hen-pecking has quieted.  She is more confident now, and not as scared of her shadow as she was.  It is amazing just how tough the smallest chicken can be.  

Now, the odd thing about her return was, that I was surprised, and that was all.  I was happy to return her to the flock, but I wasn't overjoyed, or even joyful.  I tried to tell myself that I had already accepted her death, and that she was not a pet.  I started wondering if I had become callous.

But then something occurred to me.  Acid had survived all that time on her own.  She came through her experiences, and none the worse for wear.  She'd figured out how to stay hydrated, she found her own food to eat, and she found a safe shelter.

I've survived too.  I've already faced so many experiences here on the farm that, at the time, seemed like the hardest lessons I've had to endure.  Each episode seemed enormous:  Gandalf's death, the icy driveway, the grumpy sump pump, the isolation.  And yet each of those experiences helped me to get through that preparation day with only a little blood, plenty of sweat, and few tears.  That preparation day was just another day.

I have accepted the reality of life out here.  The driveway will be an icy nightmare, therefore, I have to park the cars at the top of the hill, really close to the road.  Having free-range chickens means that I will lose some.  The arctic cold means the sump pump may freeze, so I have to be prepared to do what needs to be done to remove the water. And sometimes... sometimes you just have to embrace the inner redneck and run a garden hose out your dining room window.

A Fashion Nightmare

Ah, Friday.  Friday was supposed to be my day to do my social thing.  I was going into Arlington to deliver our guest cat back to Wine Friend, and I'd also checked with a few friends about maybe meeting up for the local First Friday after.  And, the boys were going out for an evening without me!  I was going to have a fabulous evening!

Ha!

My hair was all adorable and curly.  I actually put on a cute top and skinny jeans, and planned to wear hawt high heel boots.  Pretty earrings, light makeup... well, except for the eyes.  I did dramatic smoky eyes, in purple.  Hey, I was getting off the farm!

But, before I could escape the farm, I had to do less glamorous things.  I had to pick up the Boy from school.  I had to take Katt to the vet to get her nails clipped, and get more of her anti-vomit medicine.  And then I needed to pick up two big bags of the water-softener salt.  Muck boots were worn for those errands, and I only got two smears of dirt on my jeans.  I wiped them off, and thought, in an hour, I'll be heading east.

And then my cell phone rang.  I have a cool phone now (sorry, crackberry), and I told it to answer.  It was the Husband.  A hawk had been at the chickens, and he couldn't find any of them now.  It was already 3:30.

I got us safely home, let Katt inside, and the three of us began the search, taking Amy with us.  We walked through the woods and fields, searching for the freaked out chickens.  Eventually, we found Elasta-Girl and Peaches-and-Cream in a tree.  We lifted them out, and they were carried home.  Then we found Darth Vader, hiding in another tree.  Her tail feathers had been ripped out, and we found more sign of lost feathers there.  Had we lost a girl or not?

We continued stalking the trees, but it was getting later, and the boys had movie tickets for 5:30.  I told them to go on, that I would keep searching.

And I did.  I contacted my chicken friend, and got a few suggestions.  In the meantime, I took a break so I could prepare for the evening.  Emptying the litterbox, gathering all the cat's toys and the remaining food.  And, of course, making sure her cat carrier was ready.  And, since the driveway was still icy, I dragged the garden cart to the front of the house, so I could haul all everything up the hill.

I did another chicken search.  I let Wine Friend know I was running late, and let the other friends know that my time schedule was shot.  Texting while walking through the woods is hazardous, however.  I got caught by a low hanging branch and got a pretty good scratch across my forehead.  I exchanged the phone for a bowl of chicken feed to shake as I walked, and still managed to run into tree branches.  I was grateful it was winter, at least-- no spiderwebs or need for my web-wand.

Leia had shown up by then.  Ginger, Acid and Mocha were still missing.  But Mocha darted toward me just after the sun went down.  I took her home and conceded defeat, hoping that one or both would return in the morning, assuming they survived the night.*

By then, it was almost six!  I had to get out of there.  I was running so late!  I grabbed the kitty and my purse, put on the boots by the door, and wheeled the cart up the ice.  It was heavy, and I took off my coat again because I was starting to, ahem, glow.

Let's fast forward, shall we? I delivered the cat, and Wine Friend took me out to dinner, since I was shaking from hunger.  (I'd planned to eat something after the guys left and before I needed to leave, but that didn't happen, obviously.)  We went to a nice wine bar, and I ate a lovely meal and drank lovely wine.  I visited the lady's room.

Oh, and what a sight I beheld.  I might have been okay if I had freshened my powder and lipstick, although the smokey eyes were more smudged than anything.  And truthfully, the scratch across my forehead would have taken a bit of concealer or something.  My cute curls were in a ragged mess.  There were bits of twig in them!  I had smears of what I hoped was only dirt along my collar bone.  Never mind that I had mud on my jeans.

And I'd put on my riding boots, and not the high heels.  The boots that had been cute when I got them, but then had become my field boots, not to be confused with the muck boots.  These only had mud and a few scratches, and I am almost certain, no chicken bombs.  That I cannot say for the muck boots.

But yeah, the best laid plans of the City Kitty were pooped on by the chickens.  And I wasn't sure which I was more embarrassed by: being late because of the chickens, or looking awful because of the chickens.

*For those of you who could care less about the fashion nightmare, then rest assured, Ginger was there in the morning.  But Acid, the bottom of the pecking order, has gone to the great hawk in the sky.