Around the Homestead: Planting Time and Spring Maintenance

Garlic coming up

It has been a busy spring. A late starting, cool, but very busy spring.  

Over the past few weeks we have spent our weekends out in the yard. We planted potatoes, onions, and greens; mended fencing; rat-proofed one of the chicken sheds; moved the chicks to said shed; built bee boxes; acquired bees; repaired broken outdoor piping; cleaned up the firewood area; planted trees and shrubs; weeded garden areas, rocked-edged new garden areas; and had a weekend long yard sale. 

During the week, evenings draw to a close a little later each day, as the sun creeps it's way down the western sky, giving us more outdoor time. Each Friday afternoon finds us out in the sunshine, working on some new project, where we continue through the weekend. On Sunday evenings we break a bit early and treat ourselves to pizza or some ice cream from a local shop, and a movie (or Dr. Who) on Netflix.

Spring is always busy on the homestead. There's all the outside work to do, work we've put off since fall. Plus it's time to start planting the garden beds. I have been quite lazy about my planting, and I think the cool weather is to blame. (It can't possibly be that I'm just being lazy!) We have only broken the 70 degree mark a few days so far and our nights are still hovering in the 40s.

My seeds are started, but I've put very little in the ground, to date. This week I'd like to get the tomatoes, leeks, carrots, beans, and flowers in the ground. We'll see. I also have to requeen my hive. (My current queen ended up being a virgin queen, but that's another story.) And I'd like to get out in the canoe soon, too. Yes, something recreational!

The first asparagus spears

The asparagus is coming up and I have a collection of new recipes to try. Pickled asparagus being one. Sounds kind of weird, but I'd like to find a method for preserving asparagus that we'll actually eat. Otherwise Husband ends up taking bucketsful to work to give away.

Summer will soon be here, with it's lazy, hot days. There's just  a little window of time to get those outside chores finished before it gets so hot that the sun chases us back under the cool shade trees or indoors.

The Beeginning of a New Adventure: The Bees Arrived!

Our Bee T.A.R.D.I.S.

Last Wednesday found me busily preparing for some very special additions to our homestead — honey bees! I needed to make sure their new home was prepared: boxes painted and dried, frames assembled and placed in the bottom box, sugar syrup mixed and ready to go, the "bee yard" tidied up and ready. Of course I had all this done days ago, but in my excitement I had to check and recheck. (Or was that my OCD?)

Because of all the excitement (mine), the Boy and I didn't get many of our academic subjects in that day. But learning about bees counts as school, right? The day seemed to take forever. But, finally, it was time to head to bee class where the bees for the participating students, plus those of a few other folks, would arrive from Georgia. 

Here is an abbreviated photo essay of the process of emptying the packages into our hives.

Bee packages in the back of the van

Karen getting her bees from Ron, while a classmate looks on.

OH MY GOD I HAVE BEES!

Girls and Bees

 Ok, so the bees arrived...Now what? Our teacher, Jeremy, very patiently (This man has infinite patience!) demonstrated how to get them from the package box into our hives.

Spray with sugar syrup

Remove top, then can of syrup

Check for the queen...is she alive?

Yes she is!

Remove the cork on the fondant side

Place the queen cage in between two frames, with the escape hole up.

Queen cage placed!

Replace frames

Shake it, Shake it, Shake it! (Shake your groove thing...)

See them waggle! No it wasn't the refrain to "Shake Your Groove Thing"
that made them waggle. It's what they do to signal to others, "Hey Ladies! This is our home!"

Any questions?

Just the experience of watching Jeremy empty those bees into the hive was amazing! There were bees flying everywhere—bumping into faces, arms, fingers. Yet they were so gentle. Apparently this is because they don't have anything to defend yet. Once they get some brood and honey in their frames, I'm sure they'll be more defensive. None of the humans panicked and most of us observed and then worked our own packages without protective gear. A fellow beekeeper brought some home made mead to sample, so maybe that helped bolster confidence!

Some of the folks in the class were nonchalant about handling their bees. For a few, it was a major triumph to do this without panicking; these are stinging insects and to have thousands of them flying around can be quite intimidating. Karen, a few other classmates, and I laughed and joked our way through it all. It was a festive atmosphere...our bee party.

Karen opens her box

Popping the cork

 

The bees enter the T.A.R.D.I.S.

Bee on a classmate. We were all covered in sugar syrup!

The Beeginning of a New Adventure

Flowers, but no bees.

Spring is here, so the calendar tells me. You wouldn't know it by the temperature, or by the signs of spring in the yard. If we're lucky we might get up to 55 degrees today. And maybe actually above freezing tonight. The weather reminds me of February's sugaring weather...freezing at night, in the 40s during the day.  February weather, not April!

Crocuses have opened and are now withering away, but still no sunny daffodils waving in the breezes. Or the bursting forth of the forsythia. To me the forsythia is always the true sign that spring is here to stay.By now it should be warm enough for the flowers and when the flowers bloom, in come the bees. And very soon, like next week, come MY bees!

Last summer, while chatting about chickens with my friends Karen and Leslie (We probably sounded much like the hens we were discussing "pick a little talk a little cheep cheep cheep.") we came around to talking about raw honey and then to bees. All three of us expressed a mild interest in beekeeping.

Mild interest, for I don't really like crawly things. I appreciate them, love how they help us, but don't really like them. Each summer I find myself putting on a brave face and chanting to some child, "Worms (spiders, bees, etc.) are our friends. We must let them go back to their homes." Meanwhile my inner wuss is screaming "squish it!" Especially when it comes to spiders.

But, after a year's worth of research: attending beekeepers meetings, reading, perusing catalogues, taking an intro to beekeeping workshop, and taking what the beekeepers call a "short course," we are actually picking up a package of bees next week.

Einstein is attributed with stating, “If the bee disappeared off the face of the earth, man would only have four years left to live.” No one is really sure if he said that, but the point is a valid one. We need our pollinators, or we'll starve to death.

Unfortunately, our pollinators are dying off, and no one wants to say why. Most seasoned  beekeepers seem to think its a combination of things: pesticide use, genetically modified crops, loss of nectar sources, climate change, lowered disease resistance (due to the above). Lots of reasons all combining to wipe out a species that just can't adapt fast enough.

And beekeepers seem to be losing huge numbers of bees; dying off in late winter. (Some of the keepers at the York County Beekeepers Association are saying to expect a 50% die off this year.) It's been too cold to get in the hives to get hard numbers. 

So, while it might seem an exercise in futility, we're going to give it a try on our little homestead. My teacher, Jeremy Barnes, is estimating his losses at 10-20%, so maybe I'll be lucky if I emulate his methods. 

While I spend these last few chilly days (weeks?) dreaming about this year's yield in the garden and freezers full of chickens, I will also be nailing together hive bodies and frames, painting boxes, mounting beeswax foundation, and chanting to myself "Bees are our friends...."

Putting a frame together

No veggies

Egyptian walking onion

I have a confession to make...I don't like vegetables.Oh, there are a few that I eat, mainly those that I don't consider real vegetables, like potatoes and corn. But when it comes to green things....ick.

As a child I was notoriously picky. There's the family story about one Canadian camping trip, where, at the Bay of Fundy I choked my pile of peas down one lonely legume at a time. Apparently it took forever for me to finish the pile.

Then  there's the oft repeated string bean controversy. My dad, who remembers everything, while serving string beans would say,"I thought you liked string beans." "No,  Dad, just like last week. I don't eat them." Maybe he was expecting a miraculous change?

My pickiness was not just aimed at vegetables...i also didn't like hot chocolate or watermelon. French toast was a much despised breakfast, eggs were disgusting, milk icky, and pancakes made me vomit....literally. But I really hated vegetables.

As an adult, i now will try things that I didn't like as a kid. String beans are edible, as is raw spinach. In the non veg category, Husband makes fabulous fluffy pancakes, and just this year I started eating fried and poached eggs.

But, back to the veggies....My conscience troubles me over the lack of vegetables in my diet. Even the government now recommends a plate full of colorful vegetables.

I have  friends that each operate CSAs but i have never bought a share from either. Why? I don't eat all the lovely varieties they produce. Kale, beets, radishes, chard,...uh uh. It'd be a huge waste of money.(A fruit CSA would be well worth my money, though .)

Husband is a meat and potatoes guy. The Boy turns his nose up at many vegetables, although I can sneak some in our meals chopped up teeny tiny. 

So now I grow a fabulous garden each year, filled with the things we do eat: tomatoes, garlic, onions, potatoes, spinach, chard, carrots, string beans, edamame, lettuces, and asparagus. (I have discovered that we will all eat almost any vegetable raw, but not cooked) I buy mushrooms (super ick for me, but the Boy loves them) broccoli, and corn. And i try something new each year, if we like it, great. If not, I can always find someone to take the extra bounty.

Tastes do change as we age, but I will never be a vegetable lover. It has taken much persistence to become vegetable tolerant. And even more persistence and awareness to make sure my kids are exposed to as many vegetables as possible. Without a grimace or "ick!"

Cherry and yellow pear tomatoes

Autumn squash

Summer's last tomato

Astrophysicist, stunt double, or....micro farmer?

Remember when you were a child and you used to play pretend? Army men, Cowboys and Indians, school, ballerina fairies? Why can't we still pretend like that? Be someone far more exciting than our own selves?

Husband and I recently attended a party near his old hometown on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. As we drove to the party, we mentally tallied the guest list and realized that we would only know one person, the host.

Turning to husband I said," You know what would be fun? Going to a party and pretending to be a completely different person! A whole new persona. We should do that! Who would know?"

Laughing, we decided that husband could be an astrophysicist (He works with a bunch and could probably answer simple questions.) Being covered with noticeable bruises and scratches, from helping a relative move last week, I tossed around BMX racer and a few other rough and tumble, but exciting, professions. Upon arrival we filled in our host; he suggested movie stunt double. And there we were....new personas in place. Ready to make our entrance to society.

As the party progressed and we met new folks, references were made to various movies I had been in and to Husband's importance to the space program. However, somewhere in the middle of the evening my "real" profession was discovered.

But instead of titling myself as housewife/homeschooling mom the words " homeschooling micro farmer" sprouted from my lips. All of a sudden Husband and I were the center of attention.(Very ego boosting I must admit) "Microfarmer? That's so interesting!" "You raise your own meat chickens?" "Do you ship your eggs?" "Where can I get some?" "Can I buy my garlic from you?" "You preserve your own food? That is so awesome."

I'm sure the abundance of adult beverages had some part to play, but people were amazed that we are growing our own food, and have a bit left over to sell. In return I was dumbfounded that people on the Eastern Shore, land of factory chicken farms and roadside cantaloupe and corn stands would be so far removed from their food.

It was a great party. While it was fun being a stunt double for the evening, (thankfully no one asked for a demo) It turned out that I had a much better time being the real me, housewifery and all. We decided that being microfarmers was rather glamorous!

Fat Uglies aka Cornish rocks

"Hey woman, what's up?" "Not much, what's up with you?" "Well, the kids got some chicks for Easter and we just can't keep them all. Do you want them?" Note: two years ago I would have said yes right away. I've learned a little since then. " Hmmmm, what kind are they?" " Oh, I think they're leghorns. My aunt got them for the kids at Tractor Supply." I've learned some, but apparently not enough for this is how I acquired the fat uglies.

They were delivered during a nasty thunderstorm so the men just stashed them in the garage. The next morning, quarantine pen at the ready, I opened the box to find... not 7 leghorns, but 7 Cornish rocks.

Monster birds, fat uglies. I consoled myself with the fact that someone else had spent the time and cash to brood them. I only needed to finish them off and get them in the freezer. (With the help of Amos Lapp at Lapp's Meat Shop.)

Ugh. So why do I despise thee, O Cornish rocks? Thy greedy disposition and lack of heart and hale. Thy smelly presence and gaping maw. I just think they're gross, that's all.

We raised a handful last year, my first time raising meat birds. Along the way I discovered that these birds don't do well in the heat. They won't get up and go get a drink or find shade. They'll die where they are for lack of a drink with a fount not ten feet away.

Their legs give out under the terrific weight of their burgeoning breasts. They live to eat, following you with their greedy eyes like a bad Jesus portrait, mouths gaping...."Feed me Seymour!"

And they smell. When people emphatically state, "Ew! Chickens smell!" I am convinced it's because they've driven by a farm of these noxious birds.

So today, after approximately 10 weeks of loving care, I have delivered my fat uglies to Amos Lapp's shop, open Tues, Friday, and Saturday.

Yes, we could process them ourselves, but for $3 a chicken, Amos and his boys do a great job. I have also found myself to be a bit squeamish. The last time I processed them myself I found that I couldn't eat them. I cooked them, everyone else ate, but I stuck to the veggies at the table. So I guess those birds got the last word that time.

Potatoes in the garden

Planting time is here. Even though the weather has been fantastically warm, I've been holding off on putting anything into the ground. Potatoes, onions, strawberries, elderberries, lettuces, spinach, and leeks — all piling up in the sun porch. 

I usually put the potatoes, onions and greens in around the 15th of April. But the warm days finally got to me, and the Purple Viking potatoes went in yesterday. 

Oh how I love potatoes! They're like little treasures just biding their time, until August's drying winds withering the stems and leaves signal time to dig! And then I go, on hands and knees, unearthing troves of earthly gems. Great big "peelers" and tiny, bantam-egg fryers. Pounds and pounds spread upon the picnic table to dry in the warm shade. The excitement of weighing the bounty and calculating my seed to harvest ratio.

Those little golden nuggets of potato goodness kept us going all winter. And that was with Husband making fried potatoes nearly every weekend. Plus nurturing our family's love of mashed potatoes. I think we could have them every night and everyone would be quite happy. Usually we run out of potatoes in December, but our supply amazingly made it to February. This year's goal is to make it to spring!

Today we will plant one of the other varieties: Bintje, Colorado Rose, or Rio Grande. And I will bring the greens out to harden off. I do love gardening time! Yay spring! 

Chicken FAQs: Top Questions I Get Asked About Keeping Chickens

Hen, Rooster, Hen, Rooster, Hen, Rooster, Rooster.

Besides "Is it difficult?", the number one question I get is:

Do you need to keep a rooster?

Of course, they're half the fun! Ok, maybe that's a want. You don't NEED to keep a rooster unless you want fertilized eggs (such as if you want to hatch your own). A hen will lay eggs with or without a rooster around. Roosters are nice to have though, as they offer protection to their ladies in exchange for a little lovin'.

2. How often does a hen lay an egg?

Well, that depends on the age, breed, and general health of the bird. Some breeds are raised specifically for high egg production, such as the Leghorns. Others are raised for meat and eggs, and will lay fewer eggs. With a young Leghorn (1-2 years) you can expect about 250-300 eggs per year. With an Amerecauna you can expect 200-275 eggs per year. Here's a great chart if you want to look up a particular breed.

Chicken shed #2 made from scavenged materials
and stuff left over from other projects.
This houses 5 chickens at the moment.

3. How much space does a chicken need? Do I need a big hen house?

As much as you can give them! You need to provide housing with a 2-5 square feet per bird, maybe more if they're confined all day. I'd recommend giving them some yard, a run, or a pasture to move about on during the day. There's all types of housing, be resourceful and use what you have lying around. We converted an old shed into one house. For another we used salvaged metal siding, bead board, and cement blocks, having only to buy 2x4s. For our pasture shelters we're using 1x3s and salvaged chicken fencing. I've seen converted rabbit hutches, dog kennels, and green houses!

4. Are brown eggs healthier than white eggs?

No, nor do they taste any different. But brown, blue, green, and speckled eggs make for a beautiful breakfast! The shell color is determined by the breed. While colored eggs are no different nutritionally than white eggs, home-raised eggs taste and look much different (better in the opinion of most flocksters and their customers) from supermarket eggs.

5. How do you tell a rooster from a hen?

"Eagle" here is a hen.

By it's crow, silly. Seriously, as chicks, it can be difficult. Some breeds are sex-linked, meaning males will be one color or pattern and the females another. But for most breeds, it's tough to tell those babies apart. You can vent sex them, but it's a skill that requires quite a bit of practice to perfect. As the chicks grow, typically the roosters will get larger combs faster than the hens, their feathers are often more brightly colored and showy, they may be larger than the hens with thicker legs and bigger feet, they often have spurs, and yes, they will eventually start crowing. But, hens can crow, too! According to JD Belanger  (Idiots Guide to Raising Chickens) "This isn't as unusual as it might seem, and is easily explained. Hens have voice boxes, of course. And they're capable of crowing. The only reason they don't is because they don't feel like it. Really.
     "It's a hormonal thing. Older hens, or those that undergo hormone changes because of diseased ovaries or other conditions, can have a decrease in female hormones and an increase in male hormones, and they will often crow." And that was new to me, too.

6. When do they start laying eggs? And what time of day will they lay?

Not soon enough, especially when you're waiting for those very first ones from your very first hens! Depending on the breed, they'll start laying somewhere around 22 weeks of age. I've had them start as early as 5 months and as late as 7. The first eggs may not look all that appetizing. They may be misshapen, too large or small, or even shell-less. It takes a few weeks for some of them to get in the groove. I've had a few that laid double yolked eggs until they caught their rhythm. It takes chickens 26 hours to make an egg. The hens will typically lay in the morning, each day getting a little later, until they eventually are laying in the late afternoon. Then their internal clocks adjust: they skip a day, then start up again, laying in the morning.

Jack Sparrow is, or was, a rooster

7. Do they lay all year long?

Some breeds do, although the rate will typically drop (to possibly no eggs) over the shortest days of the year. You can manipulate the birds by artificially lighting the hen house for a few hours each winter morning. They need about 14 hours of light to lay at the normal rate. I've never done that myself as I prefer my girls to take a much deserved break, but it can be done.

8. Do they need heat in the winter?

Not really. More than heat, they need shelter to get out of the wet and wind. As long as they are kept dry and sheltered, they will do ok in most of the US. Some breeds are better able to tolerate cold, some heat. If you live in a very cold area, you may want to look for a breed that has smaller combs and wattles...less surface area to get frostbitten. Chickens will tend to huddle together and keep warm. If you live in an area that is bitterly cold (Siberia?) you might want to check and see what the experienced flocksters in your area do.

Chicken house #1 and the garden

9. Can I let the chickens roam in my garden?

If you don't want any plants, sure. Chickens are notorious "tillers." They scratch at the ground to get to the goodies. They are great for tilling up a space. It's pretty safe once your plants are grown. But you don't want to let them into a new plot that you've just seeded or planted with seedlings.

10. What about cats/dogs?

Cats don't often bother fully grown chickens, the birds are just too big. And chickens get used to the cats wandering around. Peeps look like dinner though, so make sure to keep them safe until they're older! Dogs, especially other people's dogs, are a different story. You may be able to train your dog to guard the birds, or at least leave them alone, depending on breed and temperament. Dogs running loose will attack chickens just for the fun of it—it's their natural prey instinct. If there's a possibility that a neighbor's dog will come over for a visit, make sure the chickens are well protected.

Bonus question!

Aren't they smelly?

Yes, and no. Chickens poop everywhere, without any regard to anything. But keeping the odor down is manageable. Using a deep litter method in my housing, I partially clean the house out when I need compost or mulch. Other than that I keep adding fresh littler: dry straw, leaves, etc. before it starts to smell. (Don't use fresh weeds or grasses, they have too much nitrogen. You want to use dry, carbonaceous materials) The chickens constantly till it up and break it down making lovely compost. Once a week or so, I take the hay fork and mix the litter up if it doesn't seem to be getting enough action. (Sometimes my birds seem to miss the corners). Good ventilation and dry, deep litter should keep an odor-free home for your girls.

Preparing for Summer's Garden

Right around Candlemas (Feb 2) I get the urge to start planning my garden and ordering seeds. I enjoy looking through the seed catalogues I've been receiving since Christmas; perusing the fabulous new varieties and old favorites. Usually by the 3rd or 4th catalogue, I am feeling a bit overwhelmed and indecisive! So many pictures, varieties, descriptions...

So, to make choosing a bit easier, I tossed (in the recycling bin) any catalogue that sold Monsanto seeds, GMO seeds or only hybrids. It was a lot of paper, unfortunately. After doing some research, I found that some of the companies I've used in the past were not organizations that I really want to patronize...they're selling seeds from Monsanto/Seminis. As Harvey Ussery says, "One vote, one dollar." If I am trying to grow heirloom seeds and I am incensenced by Monsanto, I shouldn't be giving them my money. Much easier to do than it sounds.

And I learned that it's not enough for a company to sign the safe seed pledge. The pledge basically states that the signer doesn't knowing sell genetically modified seeds. It doesn't say that they don't deal with companies that produce/sell genetically modified seeds. 

With the purchase of Seminis, Inc., Monsanto owns the patents for approximately 40% of the U.S. seed market. Seed suppliers have had to do some self examination and decide if they will still carry Seminis seeds or not; they own so many patents for old favorites. (Check out Fedco's stance.) There's the thought that Monsanto is gradually decreasing the number of Seminis varieties they're offering, that so many distributors are dependan on, so maybe in the future Seminis will be less of a factor.

On a personal level, I am trying my best to stay away from Monsanto. I've not been gardening so long that I've really developed "favorites." So, it's easy for me to switch to different varieties. 

After much research, here's a few "safe sellers" (no this list isn't all inclusive. I'd be happy to receive suggestions!

www.highmowingseeds.com  
www.fedcoseeds.com  
www.rareseeds.com  
www.seedsaversexchange.com
 

Hatching Chicks

A new classmate

Prior to Jack Sparrow's demise, I collected a few of the girls' eggs that were likely fertilized by him. I really loved his coloring, so thought it might be fun to see if we could get a few baby "Jacks" by hatching them ourselves. It turned out to be much more complicated than I thought it would. 

(Note: I have a really old styrofoam incubator, that doesn't seem to maintain temp very well.)

21 days ago, I brought in 9 eggs and placed them in the incubator. Since the thermostat "seems" to be off, I bought an external thermometer/hygrometer to I could attempt to monitor temperature and humidity. I also picked up an automatic egg turner. Twice a day I headed to the basement to make sure the temp wasn't vacillating too widely, trying to keep an even 99-101 degrees. The basement is where I figured the ambient temperature was least likely to fluctuate. It's always chilly, but not terribly cold down there. The process was not quite a nightmare, but it was difficult. At least I wasn't opening the incubator (releasing heat and moisture) to turn eggs three times a day! Nevertheless, I was constantly tweaking the temp controller.

Having totally forgotten to go down and check on Sunday (due to a very "important" AFC playoff game, which, sadly, we lost), I ran down first thing Monday morning to remove the egg turner. To my surprise, and great disappointment, in myself, one of the eggs had hatched; the poor little chick had fallen upside down in the water in the bottom of the pan. I was in tears. Opening the incubator, I gently removed the tiny, wet body. As I was debating what to do with it, I heard a glorious cheeping from another egg! I turned it over to find that the chick was pipping!

Pipping. No change after 12 hours of watching the egg wiggle then rest, wiggle then rest.

Moving quickly, I removed the eggs from the turner and placed wet paper towels in the bottom of the pan. (No more drowned chicks!) Then I carried the incubator upstairs so we could watch this miracle unfold. So we watched, and watched, and watched. The egg chirped, wiggled, rested, cheeped, wiggled, rested. All day with no progress. I felt like a mama, pacing the floor waiting for labor to start!

After watching the struggle for over 12 hours, I decided to intervene. I researched to make sure intervention wouldn't be more harmful than helpful, then dove in. I heated up a rice filled cloth bag, found a dropper, collected some very warm water and a pair of blunt edged tweezers and went to work. Very carefully placing the egg on the warm rice bag, I used the blunt tweezers to peel back some of the egg shell, leaving the membrane intact. I worked a small "strip" where it looked like our little guy (or girl) had been attempting to chip away the shell. (I peeled about 1/4" strip of eggshell). Then I put a few drops of water on the membrane (to help soften it) and placed the egg back in the incubator.

After "helping" our little chick, we finally saw progress!

 Another hour later, little Puffin kicked his/her way clear of the eggshell. It was so amazing to watch: its little chest heaving as he struggled with his shell, little wet feathers peeking out of the cracks, the tiny egg tooth chipping away. Then suddenly, a flutter, a push, flapping of wings and Puffin was "born." And now we have one adorable baby chick. 

Here he/she comes!

Awkward

About 12 hours old.

After 24 hours, moved to the new "nursery."

Lamenting the death of Jack Sparrow

There are certain events that occur in a lifetime that mark the amazing journey. Recalling our homestead journey, I would probably note growing tomatoes in our tiny Baltimore townhouse plot, the tilling of our first "real" garden, making jam from our own strawberries, enough tomatoes to can, acquiring Bruce and Betty — our first bantam chickens, and raising our first flock of meat chickens as important events. And we now have a new experience to add: culling the flock. Ok, doesn't sound too traumatic or even dramatic, does it? But it has made me feel like a "real" homesteader.

Last spring we purchased a few new chickens for egg production. I also ordered a rooster so we could attempt hatching our own birds. To ensure that we would have a rooster reach maturity, I ordered an extra. Murray McMurray also enclosed an extra chick for added warmth AND a free exotic chick (a black polish crested), both of whom are roosters. Yikes! Four roosters, 7 hens. Not a good ratio. But, I decided to keep them all for the time being, and see how it fared.

One of the roosters we separated out to preside over our wandering flock — our old ladies that have free roam of our property. The other three remained penned in a pasture area, along with 4 hens and the pygmy goats.

Jack Sparrow, an Americauna

Rooster to rooster relationships were just fine, not so much man and rooster. Lovely, spunky Jack Sparrow took his kingship mighty seriously, and the Boy was the first to feel his wrath. How's that for dramatic? Boy was, actually, the first to experience Jack's protective nature — vigorous flapping of wings, pecking at feet (especially those clad in bright blue Crocs), and butting up against his lower legs.  I explained to the Boy that the rooster was just doing his job, that he saw us as a threat. We must be cautious, but patient, and fix the issue.

I've heard of two different approaches to this problem. Well, three, but we'll get to that one in a minute. There's the "I'm not a threat, see I bring gifts of food." approach, getting Mr. Rooster to eat treats from the hand. He eventually learns human = food not threat. Then there's 'the carry a big stick (or a watering hose) "I'm the boss" ' approach. Which basically proves that you are bigger and badder than the rooster, so he backs down. Initially, we opted for the first approach. And it really worked — for me. He trusted me, would come running for treats when he saw me enter his domain. He let me gather the eggs with no problems. But, Jack Sparrow was not going to be fooled by the Boy and Husband. His attacks became a bit more fervent, even when they moved into "I'm the Boss" mode.  When Jack began flying into their faces I knew we needed a new plan, the third option, culling the bird.

I tried to give him away, but the only taker was a family with small kids. Not a good fit, especially if they were male (and/or wore crocs.) So, as a last resort, we took him to one of Husband's coworkers who had no issue with eating him. And I learned the lesson that little Fern resisted in Charlotte's Web. When raising animals on a homestead (as producers, not pets) sometimes the flock (or herd) must be culled.

A young, windblown Jack

Whoopie Pies!

With the onset of autumn comes all things pumpkin. There's pumpkin bread, pumpkin pie, pumpkin scones, and one of our favorites: pumpkin whoopie pies. My indoctrination to the gustatory delight that is the whoopie pie was not a favorable one. My first was a chocolate and creme combination. Overly sweet, but lacking taste. It was then that I decided that Amish cooking isn't always that great.

Since Husband really enjoys a good whoopie, I tried out a few different recipes. Here's the one that we like best:

Pumpkin and Cinnamon Cream Whoopie Pies
 3 C flour
1t salt
1t baking soda
1t baking powder
2T cinnamon
1t ginger
1/2 t nutmeg
1 c white sugar
1 c brown sugar
1 c oil (I use melted butter since I don't like the taste of vegetable oil You can also substitute up to 1/2 c with applesauce)
3 c pumpkin puree either canned or homemade 
2 eggs
1t vanilla

Heat oven to 350 degrees. Sift your dry ingredients together. Cream oil/butter and sugars till blended. Add eggs one at a time. Blend well. Stir in vanilla, then pumpkin. Add dry ingredients to wet. Mix til blended, but don't overly blend, just til blended and fairly smooth.

Drop by tablespoons-full onto a clean cookie sheet. Bake about 12 minutes. Remove from sheet to a cooling rack. Once cool, I pair them up according to size and shape.


Cinnamon Cream filling:
3 c powdered sugar, sifted
1/2 c butter, softened
8 oz cream cheese, softened
1t vanilla
pinch of salt
1-1/2 t cinnamon, according to taste


Cream butter and cream cheese together til smooth. Gradually add powdered sugar, blending till well mixed. Sprinkle in salt and cinnamon and add vanilla. Mix well.

Spread a dollop of the filling on the flat side of a pumpkin "cake." Top with a second cake. 

I store mine in the fridge. The cake is very moist and will get sticky, so if you layer them  you might want to use wax paper in between.