Tis the season....for ice

Sorry it's been so long in between posts, I was trying to avoid a weather-centric rant regarding how cold it's been here and how much I hate freezing temperatures. But since you asked, chipping ice out of all the water dishes and having to painstakingly pick my path through all the iced over puddles is not my favorite way to start the morning. In fact, the only thing all the ice in the backyard is truly good for is getting to watch the roosters have some hilarious, squawking wipeouts while chasing their ladies. After eight straight days of dealing with temperatures that peaked in the 20s, and having to haul warm water outside bucket by bucket (uphill both ways, mind you), I called my parents back in Minnesota to whine about my struggles. Unfortunately, I got zero sympathy, since it's been twenty below zero where they live.

The chickens have a great way of dealing with the cold - they rarely come out of the coop. Although they still barrel out the door every morning in their haste to get the grain scratch I always scatter for them, I'll go back outside a few hours later and they're all roosted up already, happily basking in the glow of the heat lamp. The turkeys, at least, don't seem to even notice the temperature. Dimsworth and Hawthorne spend their days as usual, lumbering around the backyard, showing off for Hester, Constance, Prudence, and Temperance. The new lady turkeys seem to love it here, and have settled down into a nice routine. They have their favorite grazing, napping, and preening spots chosen, and divvy up their time accordingly. The only difficulty I've had with them involves their penchant for flying. Even when Christmas was their age, she never flew anywhere. These gals, however, seem to delight in flapping up to the roof, any roof, when it's time for me to shepherd them into their chalet for the night. I'm positive they do it just to vex me, because if I turn my back on them, they jump back down and pace in front of the chalet door, hungry for their dinner. I had to find a ten foot long stick to use to herd them back down to the ground.
The cold weather has also forestalled most construction projects, although Gene did build me a replacement hay feeder for the one that the goats wore out. I'm really excited to begin work on the Quail Sanctuary, but the events of this morning have pushed another project into emergency-get-it-done-now status. The nesting boxes in the chicken coop need to be redesigned. Badly. Right now, retrieving the eggs involves kneeling down below the roosting bars and reaching into the boxes. In the year we've had the coop, I've never had a problem taking my time and carefully plucking each egg out of the nest, despite the gathering of feathered butts perched directly above my head. Today, however, was different. I got rained on. A terrible, horrible, stench-filled rain that got all over the back of my shirt, and worst of all, fouled my hair in the worst way possible. And it was all from one chicken! Sigh. I've never harvested eggs so quickly in my life; I literally threw them onto the kitchen counter and raced into the shower. Gotta love Mondays.

Where's the turkeys????

Now that it's been a few days, the ladies, as I've taken to collectively calling the new turkeys, have started to settle into their routine. Every night at dusk I herd them into the chalet, which is a much easier process now that they've realized delicious kibble will be waiting for them inside. At dawn I let them out, and they follow Dimsworth and Hawthorne around the pasture, separated by the fence. I would love to be able to let the boys come back in, but the first time I staged a meet and greet, they ignored the ladies and went straight to attacking Woolimina. Of all the critters to harass, I don't know why on earth they picked the one with the horn that sticks straight out. Woolimina's not afraid to use it, either. So far it's Woolimina 10, turkeys 0.

The ladies have managed to scare the heck out of me twice so far. The first time was when I went to check on them one night when they were still sleeping in the cabana, only to find no one home, not even the pasture chickens. The warm, comfy, brightly lit cabana, normally crammed with sleeping goats, turkeys, and chickens, was totally empty. It took a while, but I finally found the chickens sleeping in the goats bedroom, one curled up on top of Ariel. The turkeys took a bit longer to round up, but lots of hissing and several scratches later, everyone was safely put to the bed in the chalet. The next night, I panicked again - I had tucked them all safely into their new nighttime quarters, but it was completely empty. Nary a turkey in sight, until I looked up. They had all flown up to one of the support beams, eight feet in the air, and settled in for the night. They've done it every night since, and seem quite content with their new home. I think they're going to be beautiful when they're full grown, except for perhaps the darkest one, Constance. For some reason, her neck is bare, so she looks exactly like a turkey vulture.

You should have come with me!

So I ran into Gig Harbor today to pick up two girlfriends for Dimsworth and Hawthorne. Upon arrival, I was greeted with my version of Heaven - fat, beautiful turkeys and chickens happily roaming around as far as the eye could see. I could have spent hours there! I really wish Gene had come with me, because it really was an amazing farm. The seller had pulled aside four turkeys from which to choose, each one a different color, and each one more amazing than the last. It was a lot of pressure - far too big of a decision for one person to make alone. But since Gene decided he'd rather go hunting in the mountains than play turkey match maker, I figured the last thing I wanted to do was let him down by choosing the wrong two. Good thing I brought a large cage.

Hester, Constance, Prudence, and Temperance seem to really like their new home. I haven't introduced them yet to Dimsworth and Hawthorne, since I didn't want to rock their world by having them go on a date just after relocating. I set them up in the Cabana, since it has a heat lamp, and a gate I could shut until it got dark enough they wouldn't want to explore until daylight. I set them up with a buffet of tasty pellets, fresh water, and a pumpkin treat, all of which they happily dug into. I will post better pictures of them tomorrow. It was dusk by the time I got back, and I didn't want to go all paparazzi on them their first night here!

Love is in the air....

I'm ecstatic to announce I've solved the aggressive turkey problem, at least I hope. Much to Gene's annoyance, my solution doesn't involve a 425 degree oven and a variety of seasonings. Since Dimsworth and Hawthorne turned aggressive because it's mating season, I decided it's unfair to penalize them for just wanting a little loving. Isn't that what every living creature wants? Someone to cuddle with during the long winter nights? I'm picking up two turkey hens on Monday, so hopefully that will distract them enough to stop attacking poor Fiona. Until then, I'm keeping them outside the pasture, which doesn't seem to bother them overly much. Since it's been so cold, I've been closing them in at night in the old chicken coop, then letting them and the resultant cloud of turkey stench out at dawn. I was worried about what they would do when it starts raining again, but Abigail laughed at me and pointed out that they aren't exactly waterproof in the wild, so they should be fine. I guess that explains why I couldn't find any patterns for turkey raincoats on the Internet. (Yes, I looked. Don't judge).

In other life-changing news, the quails have started laying their eggs! So far I've found one blue egg, and one speckled egg. They're actually quite a bit bigger than I expected. I can't wait to cook something gourmet, just to have an excuse to top it with a perfectly poached quail egg, exactly like they do on Master Chef. Now I just have to figure out how to poach an egg. Gene hasn't started building The Quail Sanctuary yet, mostly because it's too cold to put them outside right now.

I spend about 20 minutes each morning chipping quarter inch ice out of the wading pools and waterers. Not my favorite way to wake up, since I prefer my weather more on the tropical side. I love standing in the greenhouse on freezing days, basking in the warmth and humidity and eating strawberries right off the plants. As usual, my heated mats are full to capacity with all my tropical plants, plus plants I decided to grow over the winter, like the strawberries. On sunny days, even if it never gets above freezing, the greenhouse is almost 90 degrees inside. It's more like 50 on overcast days, but it still beats being outside. I particularly enjoy watching the colony of tree frogs hopping around, chasing bugs and basking in the rays of the plant lights.

In other news, Abigail wanted me to introduce her new puppy, Bay, to the internet public. She's an 8-week-old Catahoula, and super cute.  Kinda makes me want to get one too....

Why can't we all just get along?

I never in a million years thought I would consider this, but we might be chowing down on Dimsworth and Hawthorne. Out of the blue two days ago, they both decided that Fiona is their nemesis, and have been trying to attack her ever since. And it's not a casual, peck you in the butt because you chomped on my beautiful tail feathers either. Those turkeys go straight up insane the moment they see her, trying to claw her face with their talons. They won't let up unless I physically drag them away. I've had to keep them separated during the day, with the turkeys outside the pasture and the goats inside. Then they get corralled in their feeding kennel for the night, which they hate. Keeping them outside the pasture works great when it's not raining, but I don't know what I'm going to do when the heavy rains come again. I thought about trying to sell them, but anyone buying a turkey around this time of year is buying it for one reason only - one delicious reason. I've poured so many loves and cuddles into them that if anyone is going to smother them in gravy and potatoes, it's going to be me. As bad as I feel about the whole thing, I don't want them to have a poor quality of life penned up somewhere, nor do I want them to spend their days terrorizing Fiona, especially since she's pregnant. I don't know why she doesn't put the smack down on them, but she just tries to run away and they corner her against the fence. Since I have no idea what made them turn into gigantic butts in the first place, they could start attacking the other goats at any time, or more alarmingly, me. Sigh. They've left me no choice but to reclaim my rightful place in the food chain. Hopefully the next turkeys we get will be more peaceful critters.

In much happier news, and speaking of food, I have little baby mushrooms growing already! Gene isn't thrilled with the big block of fungus taking up space on the kitchen counter, but I'm the one that lovingly mists it five times a day, and makes sure it has everything it needs. He also said the idea of intentionally growing fungus in the kitchen is disgusting so I should pick a different room to house it. Clearly he hasn't looked in the refrigerator's crisper drawer lately, this isn't my first kitchen rodeo. The mushrooms should be ready to harvest in another week and half, so who knows. Maybe I'll be eating fresh mushrooms on top of my fresh turkey.

I'm not the only one dreaming of fresh meals around here, though. For the last two weeks, the critters have been terrorized by a hawk that keeps swooping down on them. So far the hawk has been unsuccessful, but I have a sneaking suspicion he's the reason all of our baby chicks went missing a few weeks ago.  The Guineas are definitely earning their keep - at the first sight of the hawk, their usual screeching gets about 100 times louder. I'm not sure if the chickens are running away from the hawk or from their incessant noise, but either way, it works.

I was going to let the baby bunnies out for supervised play out in the grass, but I changed my mind thanks to the hawk. They are the perfect size for a raptor hors d'oeuvres. Cinnabun is an excellent mother - now that they are big enough to eat Wheat Thins and fresh produce, she lets me pet them all I want. All of them are incredibly curious, and none seem particularly scared of me. When I clean out their cage every few days, their favorite game is to hop on the shovel and ride it back and forth while I try to scoop out the shavings. Even though it takes me about 30 minutes to clean their enclosure with all their help, I love playing games with them.

This winter, things are gonna change

Why don't they make these in human size?

Last winter, I didn't start planting seeds in my greenhouse until February. Waiting until well into the new year left a solid three months worth of time spent staring out the window at the pouring rain, sighing heavily, and complaining about the weather non-stop. All while wrapped in a cozy blanket, curled up next to a warm fire in our wood stove with an abundance of furry purring felines available for petting. But still, it was rough. Mostly for anybody within earshot of my incessant whining about the rainy cold darkness, which, by the way, starts to dampen my spirit at 4:30 pm thanks to day light savings time. But I digress. This year, it's going to be different. I'm not waiting for February, I'm starting now. It's going to be the Year of the Tropics around here. Since I've never been one to put all my eggs in one basket, I planted various seeds both in the greenhouse and in little pots on the windowsills inside the house. I'm sprouting dragon fruit, several types of aloe, papaya, guava, and kiwis. That's in addition to several types of ancient medicinal plants, and even several types of tobacco for Gene. (I figure that dovetails nicely with my luffa sponge project - if the apocalypse comes, we'll be both clean and free of nicotine withdrawals! Now if I can figure out how to distill vodka from the potatoes I grew, then bring on the four horsemen I say, for I am prepared.)

 

For some reason, I was expecting my fungi
to be more....decorative

I'll be the first to admit I need a lot of distractions from the weather to remain happy during the rainy months. Don't get me wrong, the farm keeps me busy during the day, but once the sun sets and all the critters have gone to bed (before 5 pm!!!), I'm faced with a lot of free time. Thanks to the good folks at Fungi Perfecti in Olympia, I found a way to fill the void - with mushrooms! I ordered a shitake mushroom kit so that I could grow my own at home, instead of paying $14.99 a pound at the store.  The mushroom kit arrived today, along with a small novel containing all the care instructions. Judging by our backyard, I was under the impression that fungi grew profusely on its own with no human intervention whatsoever, but leave it to me to find the one species of fungus that demands to be spoiled with attention. Like three times a day. Apparently shitake mushrooms adhere to a schedule - four days in the refrigerator, then three to four mistings a day for a few weeks. And then, if it suits them, you'll be rewarded with tasty mushrooms.

Between the mushrooms and the quail, my complaining about the weather time has been drastically reduced. I was able to find day-old quail chicks in Belfair, so naturally I jumped on that one. After bringing them home, I did some research and learned that quail chicks are 100 times more high maintenance than chickens. First off, they eat and drink a ton, way more than you'd think could be packed into those tiny fluffy bodies. And they can't have a standard waterer, since they have a habit of falling asleep with their heads down and their butts sticking up. If they do that in deep water, you can imagine how that would end. So I have to fill up a shallow lid with water approximately 15 times a day. They can't eat standard chick starter, since the crumbles are too big. Every night, I patiently grind up a scoop of starter kibble with a mortar and pestle. Three little chicks can hoover down a scoop a day, which is impressive, even by my standards. They're not born knowing how to eat, either. Unless you have an usually smart chick in the batch, you actually have to show them how by using your fingers like a pretend giant quail beak. My days are now filled with misting fungus, fake-eating, and changing water lids. And I couldn't be happier. 

The one thing I'm not doing this winter is bottle feeding baby bunnies, thank god. Cinnabun is an excellent mama, and her kits are finally big enough that she allows me to pet them, and more importantly, take their picture! I was cleaning out around their nesting box a few days ago, after distracting mama with a giant pile of Wheat Thins, and I glanced inside to find five baby bunnies. I was relieved - five is a number we can manage. I was sure there's five people within a 20-mile radius of us that haven't bought a baby bunny yet. So I slid the box over to clean behind it, and six more bunnies tumbled out from behind it. So yeah. Eleven is a good number too. Who wants a bunny for Christmas????

They really are cute, though. I spend a lot of time in the Bunny Ranch, petting them and giving them treats. Now that Cinnabun has decided it's okay for them to interact with me, they tumble out of their nesting box and weave themselves in and out of my fingers. It's probably one of the best feelings in the world. Some of the babies have unusual coloring this time around - a charcoal gray with darker stripes. Most of them are the same size, with two huge monster babies. No runt this time, which is unusual. Not that any of them would stay runts for long, what with the steady stream of Wheat Thins and fresh produce that comes their way on a daily basis.

I think I'm raising treat monsters....

In an effort to make the most of the dry fall weather, I've taken to letting all the critters have a supervised prison break when it's not raining. They all forage happily for a few hours, eating grass and leaves and blackberries, until one of them remembers there's delicious chicken feed to be had in the coop. I always remember to shut the big door and open the little sliding one, but the miniature pygmy goats can slither through the smallest of openings. Even fat Ursula has the ability to collapse her skeleton, just like a mouse, if there's the promise of forbidden treats on the other side. I'm beginning to think she's a vampire goat - if I ever find her perusing the contents of our kitchen cupboards, I'll know she can turn into mist and seep under the door.

All it takes is one goat to enter the coop, then every one gets sent back into the pasture. Of course, I have to lure them there with scoops of grain, but still. They respect my authority. I usually let Dimsworth and Hawthorne stay outside, though, since they mostly hang out on the deck anyway. Except for today. I came home from running errands and went outside to check on the zoo, which of course means I had to throw scratch to the frenzied horde of chickens gathered around my feet. If they don't get their scratch, they will literally follow me around, wherever I go, in a great teeming horde that makes it nearly impossible to walk. Dimsworth and Hawthorne usually waddle over to get their share, knocking chickens out of the way since they're not big on sharing.
Today was the first time I didn't see them fighting for the choicest bits. After looking around, I realized I didn't see them at all, which just about stopped my heart. I've really gotten attached to those crazy turkeys, although just this morning Dimsworth stepped on my bare foot and ripped a piece of toast out of my hand. (We have a habit of throwing old toast out the sliding door, sending it sailing over the deck and down to the waiting beaks below. But this morning my aim sucked and it ended up in a flower pot, so I had to go get it). At any rate, after looking around for about 15 minutes, I finally found the two turkeys on the far side of the back fence, deep in the woods. Not being the brightest bulbs in the chandelier, they were milling around the fence line, chittering angrily because they couldn't figure out how to get where they wanted to be. I had to literally herd the two of them back through the woods, around the fence, and back into familiar territory, which took about twenty minutes. I finally realized you can use their tails sort of like rudders - if you poke the left feathers, they veer to the right, and vice versa. They also refuse to cross over stray branches or tall grasses, so I had clear the way for them. Wild turkeys can't possibly be that stupid, or they wouldn't survive, so I'm not sure if I have exceptionally dim ones, or if they think they're the Kings of England and should be treated accordingly. I'm guessing it's the latter.

Thank god the quails don't have that same sense of entitlement, because I really don't think I can deal with more avian divas. They are getting bigger, but not any louder. You have to almost hold your breath to hear the soft peeping they make. When they stand up, they look like perfectly round, feathered tennis balls. So far the Quail Sanctuary is still in the planning stages, mostly because Gene and I can't agree on the scope of the project. He apparently thinks a covered tunnel leading down to a secure grassy play area isn't a necessity, even though it most certainly is. But there's no hurry to build it, they're perfectly happy in their half of the brooding facility in the garage. The other half is occupied by Frizzle Mama, who finally hatched three of the eggs she's been diligently sitting on. She's the most dedicated broody hen I've ever had - I took away her eggs every day for a month, and she stayed broody. She was so determined I finally made her a nest in the garage and gave her a clutch to hatch. I haven't even gotten a good look at the chicks yet, since they spend most of their time nestled underneath her. I can hear them cheeping though, and they sound content. If I stand where she can't see me, I can listen to Frizzle Mama cheeping softly back at them, and it's the sweetest sound ever. Even though it's an immense amount of work, and I'm chained to the farm in that I have to be up at dawn and back by dusk every single night (not to mention the 11:00 and the 3:00 chore list), it's moments like that - hearing a contented mama talk to her newly hatched chicks - that make me realize I could never go back to not being a farmer.

It's getting crowded in here....

In addition to Esmerelda, the huge preying mantis, the greenhouse is also home to a cheerful colony of tree frogs, which I must say adds a most welcome tropical feel to the space. The heating pads are working great, and the tropical plants, including a ten-foot pink banana vine and my two-foot tall papaya tree, couldn't be happier. I'm thrilled to plant my latest rare seed acquisitions, including a dragon fruit plant and several species of aloe. Now all I have to do is replicate the conditions of the African savannah!

Gene and I spent the afternoon crafting the perfect nesting box, in hopes of enticing more chickens to lay where I can actually find the eggs. Now that it's getting colder and the days are way too short, I can't afford to have hidden forest eggs cutting into my stock.  We decided on cedar A-frame nesting chalets, which are all the rage with the chic city chickens, at least according to Poultry World magazine. After building them with my supervision, and to my exacting standards, Gene hung two of them in the coop. I can't wait to see if there's eggs in them tomorrow! I'm hoping the guineas will use them as well; they should start laying any time now and I'm curious to see what their eggs will be like.

I'm not sure when the quail will start laying, because I totally forgot to ask how old they were when I bought them. I figure I'll know when I start finding eggs. Gene is still pondering the best layout for the new Quail Sanctuary, but I think he's leaning toward building some sort of enclosed coop which can be rolled around the yard for access to fresh grass. The bonus of that design being I can also pull it into the garage during inclement weather, since quails are quite prone to illness from dampness.

But this week wasn't all about pampering the winged critters, Princess Fiona got some extra attention too. On one of my coffee-fueled strolls through craigslist, I happened open a post from Baxter, and Alpine buck who was, as he put it, "looking for love." Naturally I immediately set up a play date for the afternoon, because as luck would have it Fiona had just gone into heat the day before, so the timing was perfect. She apparently thought so too, because the two of them got down to business within minutes of being introduced. If Baxter was all that he advertised, Fiona should have a baby near the end of March!

In honor of Halloween, I hauled Senor Jose the giant pumpkin into the backyard and cut a big hole in the top. The chickens have been trooping in and out of the giant shell all day, slowly hollowing it out. Even the ducks love chowing on pumpkin innards. That's about all I did to mark Halloween's passing. I dressed up as a flannel-covered couch beastie, whose natural habitat includes any room in which there's a TV playing. I'm happy to say I stayed in character for most of the night.    

My farm animals are smarter than yours

As a farm mama, I have a pretty established routine. I get up at dawn, do farm chores, then usually stake out my favorite kitchen table spot with a cup of coffee and the latest craigslist posting (farm/garden section, obviously). The other day, my morning agenda was rudely interrupted by a loud rapping at the sliding glass door that leads out onto the deck. I looked over to see Dimsworth, who was pressed up against the glass - close enough to make a blowfish face if he had lips. As I stared at him, he started knocking on the door with his beak again. I immediately dragged Gene into the room so that he, too, could witness the miracle of a turkey intelligent enough to knock on the door and ask to come in. When Dimsworth saw us both staring, he immediately doubled the intensity of his knocks. Gene, who had just noticed the nasty pile by Dimsworth's feet that indicated he had been waiting for us to notice him for quite awhile, demanded I go chase him off the deck. And then hose it down. The scariest part of the whole experience was that Dimsworth wouldn't get out of the doorway, even when I opened it and tried to come out. I had to nudge him aside, then distract him with a treat to get him away from the door. He either really wanted to come inside, or was disappointed he didn't get the chance to sell Gene a magazine subscription after knocking on the door for so long.

Oddly enough, Dimsworth wasn't the only one to display supernatural powers this week. Gene and I needed to go into the Bunny Ranch to determine whether or not Milton and Stella were really a boy and girl, respectively (more on that later!). As it turns out, Milton is now Millie, and Stella goes by Stallone. At any rate, Millie was not happy to be examined so rudely, not happy at all. The minute Gene put her down, she started racing around the bottom of the Bunny Ranch at a ferocious clip, then decided the available horizontal space wasn't up to the task of containing her ire. When she rampaged toward the outer wall, she ran right up it. Literally right up the wall, like some crazy Spider Bunny. She hung there, four feet in the air, right below the cover for her bedroom. Although Gene was impressed, I was scared she had wedged herself against the hardware cloth and the bedroom wall, and was now too scared to come down. He waved a stick up by her head, and she finally dropped down to the ground and took comfort in the big pile of Wheat Thins I set out for her.

I needed to make sure I knew which rabbit was a buck because I found someone on craigslist who had quail for sale. I called him and was ecstatic to learn he would trade a bunny for a breeding set of coturnix quail! After making the exchange, I happily deposited three females and one male quail into the recently vacated brooding box. The latest batch of chicks are fully feathered out, and were rather tired of the confinement, so last night they relocated to the main coop. I spent the day today redecorating the brooding box to make it suitable for quail while Gene builds the Quail Sanctuary. They are tiny and fragile, so they have to be kept in a cage. I have big dreams for their new home. Big Dreams. But in the interim, changes had to be made because according to the Internet, quails have psychological needs that have to be met. I added a cozy nesting box, a partial cover for them to seek shelter under, a dust bathing station, and a foraging station stocked with crisp, fresh, greens to eat. That's in addition to their choice of two feeders and two waterers, plus an assortment of climbing and hiding opportunities. They seem happy, and probably wish I would quit checking on them every fifteen minutes.

In other happy news, the vet came back a few days ago and removed Shy's sutures. He put up such a fuss about having the bandage taken off the vet decided not to put a new one on. I'm glad, because he seems so much happier with nothing on his head. He healed amazingly well from his surgery, even if he does look a tad lopsided now. Nothing about his personality has changed; he's still a big sweetheart that loves to be hand fed his kibble and treats. I make sure to talk to him before I walk past him now, so I don't inadvertently sneak up on him. He spent the entire day today basking in the sunshine and eating all the fallen leaves.

All the critters seemed happier than usual to curl up in whatever sun beam they could find. I think they sense that it's supposed to get to 34 degrees tonight, and the sun beams probably won't be around for much longer. Lucky duck spent almost the entire day frolicking in the pools; he would zoom around in one, splashing happily for an hour, then run over to the next one and start playing again. I think he's trying to squeeze every last ounce of enjoyment out of the beautiful fall days before the weather turns rainy again.

Not to be paranoid, but why is the banana tree looking at me like that?

Now that my latest experiment, a Hibiscus plant called Roselle that is supposed to make wonderful cranberry flavored teas and jellies, has sprouted, I pop in and out of the greenhouse several times a day to monitor the progress of the small sprouts. And to bask in the 90+ degree temperature when it's in the fifties outside.
On one of those visits, I happened to look up into the branches of the banana tree and noticed that it was looking back at me with two green, triangular shaped beady little eyes. After taking an involuntary step back, I looked more closely and realized that what I thought was a branch was actually one of the 400 tiny baby mantises I had hatched back in April. Apparently Esmerelda ate the other 399, because not only is she almost the length of my forearm, but I can't find any more of them.
 I know they eat harmful garden pests (precisely the reason I bought the two egg sacs in the first place), but I'm a little worried there won't be enough pests in the greenhouse over the winter to sustain her rather substantial size. I think this winter is going to be a repeat of Gertrude, the greenhouse spider for whom I bought crickets and lovingly pelted them at her web all winter so she wouldn't starve. I'm a little scared not to feed Esmerelda, because if she gets any bigger she'll be able to reach the doorknob. I know she doesn't look that imposing in the photograph, but keep in mind the banana leaf she's perched on is almost six feet long. She's a beast.

Speaking of beasts, I went into the Bunny Ranch today to try and count Cinnabun's babies. If not for my catlike, lightning quick reflexes, and my ability to defend myself with distractingly tasty Wheat Thins, I would have withdrawn a bloody stump. Apparently she's not ready to share her babies with the Internet public, but I'll get some cute pictures as soon as I can.

So after being intimidated by both an insect and an overly protective mama rabbit, all within the same 30-minute time span, I decided I needed a delicious snack to boost my self esteem. I have discovered that fresh, ripe, sun-warmed figs are perhaps the most amazingly juicy, tasty fruit on the planet. My prior experience with figs has been limited to Newtons, which are nasty, but that didn't stop me from getting a fig tree when they were on sale at my favorite greenhouse. I was so enamored with the experience of eating a ripe fig that Gene said I could go buy another tree! Now I just have to figure out where to put it.

The heart wants what it wants....

Since starting our farming adventure four years ago, Gene has grown accustomed to my interrupting his breakfast to ask for $500 to buy a micro-mini pot-bellied pig, or a trio of peacocks, or whatever else happened to catch my eye on craigslist. He doesn't even humor me anymore by pretending to think about his answer before rolling his eyes and going back to his corn flakes. Not that he never says yes - after all, we do have an immense number of chickens, two turkeys, two guineas, an alpaca, a sheep, an ever-changing number of rabbits, six goats, and sixteen ducks. No one can say I'm not spoiled. 

While I'm prone to falling in love with anything and everything, Gene is much more reserved with his creature affection. Every once in awhile he'll come home with a tiny kitten (thus proving that lurking in front of a grocery store with a box advertising free kittens works like a charm), and on one memorable occasion he walked in the door after work with Raphael the rescue ferret. So when he came home from a trip to Petco yesterday, with tales of a Devil Crab that would climb out of its tank and into the neighboring one to snack on the delicious fish next door, I knew he was in love. Deciding that a house just isn't a home without a thieving crustacean, I went to Petco today to surprise him by bringing home Lucifer.



When I got to the aquatic section and inquired about the Devil Crab, the employees eyes lit up. She said they had gotten three of them in two months ago, two of which had sold on the first day. She then spent the next two months chasing Lucifer out of whichever tank he felt looked most delicious at the time. His favorite snack seemed to be the glow fish, which retail for $10 a pop (kind of ironic, considering Lucifer's personal price tag was considerably less). A few people seemed interested in him, but then changed their minds once they learned he had special needs to be accommodated, such as a climbing ramp so he could breathe air every now and again. And the ramp couldn't be to either side or the back of the tank, since then he'd presumably climb out and snack on a pet cat, or steal beer out of the fridge. No, the ramp had to be smack in the middle of the tank, which doesn't seem like a deal breaker to me, but people are weird. Now, there's two kinds of people that shop at Petco - people that know the basic requirements of their pets and get the bare minimum, and people that get the bare minimum, plus anything else that the pet could possibly ever need or want at any given stage of life. Guess which camp I'm in? I followed the employee around, stocking up on crab climbing toys, crab treats, and crab food, and I'm willing to admit that if she told me Lucifer needed an underwater exercise wheel, my next two questions would have been which aisle and what are my color choices.

Believe it or not, scoring an amazing crab for the tank wasn't the only good thing to happen today. Cinnabun had her litter this morning! I will post some pictures in the next few days, I don't like to shove a camera in their faces when they've been in the world for less than 12 hours. It seems rather rude.

Screw the weather, I'm planting chards.

Now that the summer crops are all harvested and most of the beds have been mulched, and I've loaded up the greenhouse to bursting with all the tropical plants, I decided that I couldn't bear to go another four months before starting my seeds. The need to be growing something new was strong, so I went to my favorite greenhouse and bought some cold weather greens, specifically chard (to replace what the bunnies ate to the ground) and romanescu. I planted them in the front raised beds, and mulched them heavily with straw, so hopefully they'll actually grow!

In other incredibly exciting news, I'm ecstatic to report that my loofa experiment was a resounding success. I harvested a ripe one today, peeled it, shook all the seeds out of it, then power washed it with a hose. Three hours later, I had a new sponge! At least one of those hours was devoted to scampering all over the kitchen and living room, picking up seeds that had flown out of the peeled loofa when I banged it against the sink. You're supposed to hit it against the side of a bucket to knock all the seeds loose, but it was too cold outside for me so I used the sink. I was so thrilled with my new source of free, natural sponges, I immediately hopped on the Internet and ordered two more varieties. I'm going to start them in January so they'll be ripe closer to the end of August, since they stop growing when it gets cold. I'm sure I'll be able to get more than one sponge next year, now that I know what I'm doing. I had a bunch of loofas growing, but two got overly ripe and started to mold, and the remaining four that are still on the vine won't grow enough since the weather turned.

I spent the rest of the evening happily stretched out on the floor, sorting my cubby of 200+ seed packets and organizing my plans for next year's gardens. Oddly enough, no matter how many opened and unopened seed packets I have, I'm always able to come up with a fairly extensive list of can't-live-withouts. I've decided to try and limit myself to planting just one or two of each thing, and allowing it enough space in the garden so that I can actually harvest with ease months later. We'll see how long that lasts, because my list of what I intend to plant is fairly long.

My baby's back!

After a very long four days, the vet brought Shy back to the farm this morning. Although he was scared and skittish when he was climbing out of the trailer, as soon as he realized where he was I could see him visibly relax. All the other critters recognized him right away, and as Shy was exploring the backyard I opened the pasture gate and the stampede began. It was actually a pretty impressive sight - six goats of varying size, plus one woolly sheep all competing to get Shy's attention first. The turkeys, on the other hand, immediately recognized a stranger in their midst, and started trying to out puff each other in an effort to convince Dr. Bo that he was, indeed, gazing upon the prettiest turkey. I stood back and tried to look at all the chaos in the same way as someone seeing it for the first time - the flock of sixteen ducks moving as one across the yard, quacking angrily that I didn't have the pink grain scoop in my hand. The sixty-plus chickens that had come to the same conclusion seconds earlier, and were cackling and screeching their annoyance at the lack of delicious kibbles being scattered in their general direction. And perhaps loudest of all, the two guinea howls that were so beside themselves with the lack of treats that they were spinning in tight little circles, screeching their trademark "buck wheat" call loudly enough for anyone within a two-mile radius to agree that I probably should have dispensed delicious morsels the minute I stepped in the backyard. Although he undoubtedly agreed when I told him that we lived in a zoo (at the top of my lungs, due to all the noise), he smiled and added that everyone looked incredibly happy. For his part, Shy seemed to welcome being back amidst all the chaos. He has to wear the bandage for another week or so, then the eye surgeon will return to remove the sutures. He'll wear a light bandage for another week, then he'll be considered fully healed. He has a spot on his neck that was shaved to accommodate the injections, so I'm thinking that when the colder, rainy weather comes he'll definitely need some type of scarf. I figure I'll buy him a tasteful yet trendy scarf knit from alpaca fiber to keep his neck warm until his own wool grows back.

Why, what do you use your living room for?

When I went out for dawn chores this morning, I was horrified to find frost on the grass. Actual ice crystals, which I hadn't expected until at least the end of October. Normally I'm not averse to frost, in fact I think it makes for stunning photographic opportunities, but I hadn't yet had a chance to relocate my precious avocado trees for the year. I have a lot of work invested in those trees - I lovingly sprouted the pits three years ago, and have been caring for them ever since. Normally I have them tucked in for the winter by now, but this year the biggest tree is over nine feet tall (Gene measured), which severally restricts where I can house it. Even the garage ceiling was too low. I did put the six-foot tall tree in the garage, placed right next to the brooding box so that the broody Frizzle can have a room with a view while she sits on her clutch of eggs. Long story short, Gene and I dragged the nine-footer into the living room. I'm still not sure how to arrange around the clock protection for it from the hungry, curious, kitties, but at least it won't wither in the frost.

Since we've had a week without rain, the goats and Woolimina have been enjoying extended prison breaks all day long. Although I'm happy they get a chance to eat all the blackberries and grass, with the added bonus of those things being a great source of free food, I'm not sure the decorative plantings will ever recover. Ursula, the pot-bellied pig that she is, managed to destroy my three-year-old rosemary tree while I was shooing Princess Fiona out of my rose garden. Shortly after that I gave up, and decided it was much less stressful to focus on how many essential nutrients they're getting. Seeing all the happy critters taking sun naps in their favorite spots is very relaxing, but it does make me miss poor Shy. According to the vet, his surgery went really well, and he's been the most well-behaved alpaca they've ever treated. I'm ecstatic that he's coming home tomorrow, because I can't wait to give him a hug. He'll be wearing a bandage around his head for at least two weeks, then a lighter bandage after he gets his sutures out, but then he should be back to mostly normal. I'm a little disappointed that the $1,000 price tag attached to his recovery didn't come with an eye patch, or at least a pirate bandana, but I'm just happy to have him back. And that we have a credit card with room left on it.

It's getting colder at night -- time to panic!

After lurking in the pasture at odd hours of the night to treat poor Shy, I realized that time is quickly running out to find warm seasonal housing for all my exotic, tropical, Gene-can't-believe-I-tried-to-grow-these-here plants. Last year I managed to cram everything in either the big greenhouse or the smaller plastic greenhouse, but my avocado trees had a growth spurt over the summer and are now about a foot taller than the roof of both enclosures. And even if they did fit vertically, the space they occupied last year is now claimed by an entire forest of new citrus trees, all of which are about three feet tall now. Even my papaya is two feet tall! That one stays inside all year round, though, as I desperately try to mimic Hawaiian soil by parking it on a heated mat. I don't want to bring the avocado trees inside, because house plants tend to have life expectancies measured in mere hours thanks to our hungry and enthusiastically vegetarian kitties. My guess is the trees will end up inside the garage, next to the brooding facility. I seriously can't remember the last time we even had a car in there.

I spent most of the day today wandering around the front yard, repotting root bound plants and tucking them into the greenhouse for the winter. I needed a distraction from thinking about poor Shy, whose eye unfortunately got worse. The trauma to his eye was more significant than the vet had originally thought, so sadly he will become a pirate alpaca. Gene said I can get him a cool eye patch, but I'm not allowed to bedazzle it because he's a boy. The vet picked him up today, and will bring him back on Monday. I think all the other critters know I'm sad, because whenever I go into the backyard I get swarmed even more than usual. It really is hard to be depressed when I'm outside, though, watching all the content animals going about their various errands. Dimsworth and Hawthorne have uplifted my spirits more than anything, since they've recently discovered how much they love hanging out on the deck. I like sitting at the kitchen table and watching them roost on the deck railing, but Gene is going to freak when he sees the softball-sized bombs that mark their favorite napping spots. I would clean it up, but since he hid the spray nozzle for the hose from me because he said I was constantly losing it, I don't have the proper tools for the job.

Who needs sleep?

So despite the absolutely gorgeous weather we've been having for the last few days, things have been pretty crazy around here. During the windstorm last week, poor Shy suffered a pretty catastrophic eye injury, and we had to call the mobile emergency vet. After handing over roughly the same amount as our car payment, I got eye drops to treat the infection. For the first two days, I had to administer them every two hours. The vet said that I didn't have to give them at night, but if I did, Shy had a much better chance of keeping his vision. Naturally, I set the alarm to go off four times during the night, and administered the meds like clockwork. A few of my friends noticed my zombie-like appearance the second day, and when I explained what was going on, they said it was just like nursing. Which I guess it is, if nursing involved putting on muck boots and chasing your baby around the pasture at two am. Now that it's been a few days, I only have to give the drops every three hours between 7 am and 10 pm, but there's two different kinds now that have to be given 30 minutes apart. It's going to be awhile before I can leave the house for any length of time, but the upside of the whole experience is I learned Shy loves ear scritches. After I get done with the drops, I let go of his halter and scratch behind his ears, and he leans into me and shuts his eyes. It's quite sweet.

The other thing I've learned during the last few days is that Shy has formed very strong bonds with the other critters, most noticeably Woolimina. The first few times I had to chase Shy around the pasture, Woolimina tried to protect him by running along side him and generally running interference. She would make quite the linebacker, I should buy her a football. I was amazed how upset she got when she thought Shy was in distress, and after I'm done she always lays down right next to him and gives him cuddles.

But it's not all frenzied chases around here, when I'm not medicating recuperating alpacas, I open the gate and let everyone come out and enjoy the sunshine. Dimsworth and Hawthorne particularly love their freedom, and more than anything they love following me around the yard, helping with whatever project I'm doing. I think I created a couple of monsters by hand feeding them Wheat Thins, and now they come barreling up to me demanding treats the minute I step off the deck.

I'm used to doing the chicken dance when I walk through the yard, hopping and jumping to avoid stepping on any toes while making my way to the treat bin, but I must say the sight of two huge turkeys rushing up to me is still disconcerting. Even the guineas mob me, and they have the horrible habit of springing straight up in the air just as they catch up to me. I'm really glad we got Vinni and Luigi, loud as they are. They are great guard birds, screeching and hooting whenever the falcons and eagles fly overhead. Now that they're a few months old, their bodies are getting big, but their heads aren't catching up. Even though they aren't the prettiest critters in the yard, they're always joyful as they go about their business.