Apparently we're stuck with each other.

After discovering the three splintered fruit trees in what used to be our beautiful orchard, I placed several notices in strategic places regarding the sale of a goat. I had a buyer lined up, but when I called to confirm the sale, he informed me that his wife decided that Daisy was "too much goat" and she was worried about her ability to handle her. I was slightly irked, because I hadn't even described Daisy's amazing ability to prune roses and cherry trees, or her ability to levitate over five foot fencing. But then I decided in the end it was a good thing, because she has spent the last week looking extra cute and staring at me with accusing eyes. Since she's eaten everything she can reach in the orchard, at least I don't have to worry about that any more. But if she gets into my blueberry patch or the garden, we're having curried goat kabobs for dinner.

Not that there's much to eat in the garden yet, but I was able to plant a few things. I'm waiting until late May to plant everything in the greenhouse, since I still need to harden off everything inside it by leaving the doors open at night. Gene rototilled the garden plot today, and I planted everything that was in the cold frame: artichokes, cabbage, brussels sprouts, onions, and two tomatillos I set outside a few weeks ago to test their ability to withstand the colder evenings. The chickens are devastated at being denied access to their favorite worm hunting ground, but they'll have to get used to it.

I discovered a few days ago that one of my young silver-laced cochins has developed into a cross beak. Although I've never had one previously, I've read quite a few articles about the condition. Basically it's a genetic disorder that really doesn't have a cure. It usually shows up around four months, which is how old Cross Mama is. So far she is eating and drinking fine, and growing normally. She's one of the friendliest chickens we have, and loves to follow me around the yard. For now I put her in the empty garage brooding box for meals so she can eat with no competition, and give her crumbled feed since she can't really eat the pellets any more. If her beak gets more crossed, then eventually I'll have to hand feed her mash. Gene thinks I'm nuts, but I don't mind being her personal chef at all.

Speaking of personalized cooking, I haven't stumbled upon the type of treats the three new turkeys like. They've turned up their beaks at watermelon and strawberries, and are the only creatures on the farm who disdain Wheat Thins. I don't know if White Midgets are different from other turkey breeds, but Thanksgiving and Christmas loved all those things. Sam, Rosalie, and Pele also do one other creepy thing that I don't remember Thanksgiving and Christmas doing - they sleep standing up, and continuously peep while they sleep. (Cheeping and peeping while sleeping - I'm the next Dr. Seuss!) It sounds cute, but it's actually kinda creepy. They huddle up with their heads in the middle of the circle, quietly peeping their secrets to each other while they snooze. It reminds me of those three witches from that Clash of the Titans movie, the ones that share one eyeball among them. They definitely give off a "we're plotting against you" vibe. At this point I'm glad they're a miniature breed.

So much drama, and it's not even June yet!

I'm a firm believer that most things happen in threes, including farm drama. A few days ago, I was on my twice-daily turkey scavenger hunt in the garage, checking every nook and cranny for the frantically cheeping poults. I was making so much racket crashing around in there, hoping to scare King Kamehameha and Pele back into the brooding box that I missed the frantic bleating from the pasture. Thank god Gene heard it, and raced outside to find little Leo being choked out by his Auntie Ariel, whose horn had gotten twisted up in his collar. It was close, but Gene was able to revive Leo by thumping on his chest and massaging his neck while I rubbed his back. The other critters were beyond upset; Shy Shy came up and gave him a head bump while the other goats made a circle around us while I sat next to Leo on the ground. After about thirty minutes of holds and cuddles, Leo was back to his normal happy self.

Since the two little turkeys seemed to hate the garage so much, Gene and I wrapped the turkey chalet in chicken wire and relocated them to it. The very next morning, I came outside to find poor King Kamehameha had been attacked and killed by a mink. Poor Pele was devastated, so I went back to the feed store and brought home two White Midget Turkey poults, since they had run out of Royal Palms. Seeing the two new arrivals, I think Pele is actually a mismarked White Midget, because she looks exactly like her two new siblings, Sam and Rosalie. (Those are the only two hobbit names that seemed fitting for birds). To prevent another mink attack, Gene built a frame covered in hardware cloth that lines the inside of the chalet, and keeps the turkeys back about a foot from the outer edge. Sam, who seems to have a healthy dose of exploration tempered by a mammoth dose of stupid, keeps getting stuck between the two walls. He also figured out how to fly up to the roof braces, where he then gets stuck and howls until I come out and help him back down. At least they settle down once it gets dark out.

The third bad thing to happen this week involved a coyote, although to be fair the bad thing happened to the coyote. Once again Gene, who apparently is far more vigilant than I am, looked outside last night and noticed the ducks all staring at something in the woodline. If there's one thing we've learned in five years of farming, it's if everyone is staring intently in the same direction, someone needs to grab a gun. Gene raced outside to find a huge coyote studying the ducks intently. Sadly (for the coyote), it didn't get the chance to enjoy one last meal before being peppered with lead. Since coyotes typically hunt in packs, I kept Harvey and Cinnabun inside the Bunny Ranch today, much to their mutual annoyance. Cinnabun loves to be outside so much she can be a bit of a butt about returning to the Ranch at night. Harvey comes running at the mere shake of the Wheat Thins box, but I usually have to go looking for Cinnabun. Sometimes the lure of tasty snack crackers is enough to get her home, but other times she needs liquid persuasion, in the form of a garden hose aimed in her general direction. I feel bad about spraying her, but figure a sodden bunny is better than a coyote snack.

Seriously, don't make me buy a cookbook.

Usually life here on the farm is peaceful, calm and serene. Everywhere you look chicks frolic around softly clucking mother hens, ducks bumble along on their quest for juicy slugs and other delicacies, and goats chew their cud in the sun while contemplating deep thoughts. Other days, not so much. Chickens scatter in a burst of feathers as a frothing Farm Mama chases Daisy goat out of the orchard with a stick, only to turn around and find little Leo crammed into Harvey's upper bedroom, snacking out of his food tray. We never had a fence-testing goat until we got Daisy, and she's driving me nuts to the extent I actually posted an ad for her on Craigslist while in a decimated-cherry-tree-driven rage. No matter how many times Gene reinforces the fence, she finds a spot where she can climb something and jump over it. If she keeps it up, I'm going to find out why the contestants on Top Chef always choose goat first.

In calmer news, King Kamehameha and Pele are quickly feathering out. As soon as the nights start getting warmer, I think I'm going to move them out into Christmas's chalet. I'm hoping to avoid the month-long period of agoraphobia that seems to accompany moving out of the garage brooding box. The batch of chicks from Wilco, although nearly full grown, still hesitate to come outside the coop to explore the big wide world. (Perhaps they're afraid of the crazy goat-chasing woman with the stick?) They didn't even venture out for watermelon treats on the day it got to 86 degrees here. But another reason to move King Kamehameha is that he loves to roam. All over the garage. Then he gets annoyed that he's not in his comfy, warm, food-containing box and starts to pitch a fit. For those of you lucky enough to have had the pleasure of trying to stumble your way through our way too-packed-garage, you can imagine how much fun it is to look for a tiny turkey.

Speaking of way too packed structures, I really, really need it to be June weather now. My greenhouse has been taken over by cucumber and squash tendrils. The plants got so big I was forced to repot and trellis them, just to take advantage of the vertical space, but by giving them more dirt I gave them an excuse to have a growth explosion. I have a cucumber that's ready to be harvested, and my one-ton pumpking has set a fruit! I also have baby ground cherries and tomatillos already, and what I think is a zucchini but I can't get close enough to check.

The one thing I forgot to plant this year was lettuce, so I have to keep buying prepared salad bags for Harvey and Cinnabun. They have grown accustomed to a certain level of culinary excellence, and god forbid I run out of Wheat Thins. Now that they are free to mingle, I find them cuddled up in various spots around the back yard. Cinnabun has gotten over her terror of the great outdoors, and now follows Harvey along his various bunny trails. They both come bounding back when I shake the cracker box, and stand up with their paws pressed just above my knee until they get a treat. If Cinnabun gets much bigger, they're going to be able to push me over.

Life goes on...

Sadly, I went outside to do chores two days ago and found that Christmas had transitioned to the Great Farm in the Sky. She was the happiest of the happy turkeys, and not many of her brethren live to the ripe old age of almost three. Since the sight of the empty chalet was breaking my heart on a continual basis, Gene agreed to let me get two new turkeys. Within five minutes of his proclamation, I was headed to the feed store. I decided to get Royal Palm turkeys this time around, for a more ornamental, smaller bird. After 20 minutes of watching the little chicks bustling around their pen, I picked two which I hope are male and female. King Kamehameha and Pele are now happily ensconced in the garage brooding box. They're in that horribly awkward phase where their necks are too long and they have glittering reptilian eyes, but I think they're adorable.

In other chick news, the three broody mamas are all proving to be excellent mothers.
We now have a total of 19 chicks happily cavorting around the yard, snapping at butterflies and slurping down worms. Gene had to install more roosting bars in the chicken coop in anticipation of the additional feathered butts, and we also had to move the newest chickens out of the garage and into the big coop. The transition went great, with the exception of the Blue Polish hen, whom I've creatively dubbed Blue Mama. Blue Mama has a huge ornamental poof of feathers on her head that apparently inhibits her eyesight. Every night I've had to go on the Blue Mama Scavenger Hunt to see where she decided to bed down for the night. I'm thinking she can't see well enough to find her way back to the coop. So far I've been lucky in that she doesn't stray too far and I can usually find her within 30 minutes. I think I'm going to have to give her a feather cut, or gather them up on top of her head with one of those ridiculous baby bows.

Speaking of babies, Harvey and Cinnabun accelerated their long-anticipated play date when Harvey managed to free her from her cage. I walked outside to find Harvey happily living up to his Bunny Ranch reputation, and ever since then they've been inseparable. Watching them cuddle is the cutest thing ever, since they're both so huge. They even had a Lady & the Tramp moment tonight when they shared a Wheat Thin. Needless to say, in about 28 days, Gene's going to be a grandpa.

Spring is for chicks!

Sorry it's been a month since my last post, but I've been spending every available moment outside celebrating the fact that this is the first spring in two years I haven't been in a cast! Now that the sun has come out, poor Gene's to-do list has exploded with new projects so he's been spending all his days off outside with me. He built a series of raised beds that we lined the driveway with, and I've already planted raspberries, cauliflower, corn, broccoli, romanescu (the gourmet broccoli they always use on Top Chef, so naturally I had to have it), onions, shallots, garlic, and of course my 15-pound radishes. I'm actually kind of disappointed in those so far - I was hoping the radishes would have burst through their containers by now.

My greenhouse is completely filled to capacity, and I already have cucumbers and squashes starting to form! Since it's starting to literally resemble a jungle in there, I decided to bring in some wildlife in the form of ladybugs and preying mantises. I was particularly excited about the mantises, because the package contained two intriguing egg-sac/cocoon things. I decided to name my two about-to-hatch new pets Christopher and Francis, since those were the first two Saint names I could come up with. And then I took a closer look at the package, which said each egg sac contained about 200 mantises. Gene said he is looking forward to the day when I run out of the greenhouse, screaming and covered in waving green insects.

Thank you, ScienceDaily,
for a picture of what
I DON'T have.

While my greenhouse jungle is by no means lacking in insects, it is sadly bereft of papayas. The nursery still hasn't replaced my poor, sad, shriveled, DOA papaya plant, much to my great annoyance. Clearly the good folks at Burgess Nursery don't realize that my blog has a worldwide following, and if I dog them online that one guy in Russia who showed up in my "pageviews" tracker will never order from them.

In critter news, I have 16 newly hatched chicks! Seven of them are being co-parented by experienced broody mamas, and they are currently residing in the back half of the goat shed. They are the pair that took up residence in the far corner of the goat's bedroom, and by sheer luck their clutch of eggs didn't get smooshed by Ursula's ever-expanding girth. I didn't want to take the chance with chicks, though, and once they started hatching they were relocated. Condi's chicks also hatched today; she built her nest in a plastic tub in the foyer of the goat shed. I didn't want to relocate her to the main coop, because another broody mama has taken up residence in the nesting boxes. Sadly, she can't seem to remember which clutch of eggs is hers, so I came out this morning to three newly hatched chicks crying piteously for their mama while she was obliviously parked on two eggs one nesting box over. I pulled out my Chicken Protective Services badge and promptly removed the chicks from her custody. I gave them to Condi, who happily incorporated them into her brood. I decided that she needed a protective wall to shield her from the comings and goings of all the hens, since the goat shed is a coveted hang-out spot, especially when it's windy out. It took me six hours, and lots of measuring, re-measuring, and swearing, but I finally built the most beautiful of frames to which I then stapled plastic mesh. When I surprised Gene with it, he agreed that it was a nice wall indeed, but added that it would have taken him five minutes and less screws to create. At any rate, all of the brand new mamas are happy. The co-parents took their chicks out into their first chaperoned visit to the big wide world, and I was lucky enough to photograph one of the chicks catching her very first worm. The worm was longer than the chick, but somehow she made room.

The garage brooding box chicks are almost ready to go out into the big coop, finally. I discovered just yesterday that my Polish Crested chick is a rooster, so apparently they only come in male. Sadly Sean Paul, the watch-your-back-cuz-he'll-impale-your-legs Polish Crested rooster, passed last week. He's now attacking the angels when they aren't looking at the Big Farm in the Sky. My new rooster seems to be following his legacy, because he attacks my hand whenever I reach into change their water or refill the feeders. On the plus side, my blue Polish Crested chick hasn't crowed at me yet, so I still have hope for an agreeable hen.

Little Leonidas, Daisy's kid, is getting bigger at an exorbitant rate. He's all legs and ears with a little bitty head. To date, his favorite game is trying to stand on Ursula while she does her best to shake him off. In his defense, she is definitely wide enough to park your drink on. He also loves his Uncle Shy, and watching the two of them take a nap in the sunshine is the cutest thing ever.

I'll be over there, picking up the pieces of my shattered dreams....

Ever since I ordered my papaya tree way back in frosty, icy January, I've been looking forward to this day with an ever-increasing amount of impatience. When I was placing the order, I figured the delivery would necessitate, at a minimum, two burly men, a truck, and some sort of forklift to get my papaya tree situated in its new home. Imagine my disappointment when I made the daily trek to the post office, only to be presented with a smallish green plastic package, so light I could carry it with one hand. When I got home and opened it, I discovered that reality refused to meet my dreams even halfway as I unpacked the saddest, wiltiest, most despondent two-inch papaya tree I've ever seen. Granted it's also the first papaya tree I've ever seen, but still. The poor thing is so traumatized that even though its two leaves are still green, you can literally see through them. I had to check it into plant ICU, where it has its own room complete with a protective plastic bottle bubble and a splint made of shrimp skewers and a twist tie. I also called the company, who said they would send a replacement papaya, but only if I stopped crying.

Also included in what I'm now calling my Order of Crushed Dreams was the three-in-one citrus tree I was elated to stumble across back in January. I pictured a single grafted tree of Frankensteinian elegance, with a selection of lemons, limes, and oranges on every branch. But apparently by "3 in 1", they meant three separate trees crammed into one pot. That's the sort of thing I do by accident every time I plant seeds, not something they should advertise as a glorious hybrid citrus celebration. I briefly considered separating out the three trees into different pots, but then shrugged and decided to keep the citrus party going. With all my new acquisitions in pots, plus a few more "had to haves" I saw at the huge Wilco sale today, my greenhouse is officially at maximum capacity. It's hard to tell from the photo, but along the right side pots are stacked three and four deep. In my infinite wisdom, I left the two plants with spikes on them along the aisle, so I get a pointy hello every time I turn around in there.

I discovered something else as I was unpacking the rest of it - ten asparagus plants that I'd completely forgotten I'd included in my order. Every time I've seen an asparagus for sale, I've thought, "Ooh, asparagus! I should try growing that!" and I'll throw a package of it in my cart. Then forget about it. Times five. Now I have over thirty asparagus plants for which Gene is going to have to build a raised bed. Good thing we have over 12 yards of dirt to use! I just wish he actually liked asparagus.

Forget robins and daffodils...

If you want to see the real sign that spring has arrived, look no further than our driveway. Underneath the festive yet functional blue tarp, you'll see a five-foot by six-foot pile of pure spring. This year's pile of compost/dirt blend even had a bonus frog delivered with it! It doesn't get more springlike than bonus frogs. We are going to make a new raised bed that runs the length of the driveway, and also build a few raised beds dedicated to berries. I can't wait!

Some of the dirt is destined for the backyard garden as well. The cover crop that Gene planted a few months ago has sprouted, and it got tall enough that I decided it was the perfect spot for Cinnabun's first introduction to the big wide world outside the Bunny Ranch. Instead of grazing, she hopped about frantically, staring up at the sky like she was worried about falling off the ground. After about ten minutes or so, she started panting, so Gene put her back. Harvey was fussy during his first trip outside, too, so her reaction was expected. After a few more field trips, she'll be happily cavorting right next to him.


Our resident outdoor chick has finally gotten over her agoraphobia, and loves to hang out in the garden. She's been adopted by both the blue cochins, and it's absolutely adorable to watch them mothering her at the same time. The three are inseparable, and cram into the same nesting box at night to sleep. I've never heard of that happening before, but the chick most definitely has two mamas.

Our newest mama, Daisy, is a happy goat. Now that she doesn't look like a horned walrus anymore, she seems much more comfortable. Leo spends his days climbing on all the toys and tree branches, running over for the occasional milk break when the mood strikes him. We still close him off with his mama in the alpaca cabana at night, since he's still firmly in the "Coyote Appetizer" weight class, but he loves being outside playing in the sunshine.