Gene better step up his game cuz he's got some competition in the contractor department

Apparently Daisy felt we were discriminating against goats of a certain height here on the farm, and she was tired of having to lay down to look out the door of her bedroom. She took it upon herself to brush up on her contracting skills, then she installed a modified door, thus enabling her to reflectively chew her cud while taking in the sights standing up. As an added bonus (no doubt part of her overall design plan), the new configuration allows for two goats at a time to enjoy the view, as long as one of the other goats is short.

In other critter news, Lucky Duck has literally flown the coop. I figured his departure was imminent when I saw him teaching himself to fly, then practicing loops and circles around the pasture. Watching him learn and practice was really cool, even though in the back of my mind I was a little sad because I knew it meant he wasn't planning on staying permanently. Still, though, how many people can say they found a duckling in their driveway and raised it to independence? Lucky Duck definitely had a guardian angel that dropped him off at our farm.

 

I didn't realize it was a nest

until it started hissing at me.

Although I miss him, more ducklings should be hatching soon from underneath their broody mama. I finally found the duck I originally thought the fox had gotten - it's incredible how well they can camouflage themselves. She has been brooding on a whole clutch of eggs, literally five feet away from the duck enclosure. Since I don't know when she started brooding, I'm not exactly sure when the eggs will hatch, but it should be soon. Depending on how many ducklings come into the world, we may have to enlarge the Duck Mansion. But I'm not worried - I figure if Gene's too busy, we can hire Daisy to do it.



Apparently it's August, because here come the spiders.

I frequently meander through the yard in the afternoons, checking in with all my critters and various planted areas. I wandered over to the wood storage area, which this summer I've converted into a perfect shallot drying station. Gene basically attached a transparent plastic roof to a bunch of posts, and I strung rope between the posts then tied the harvested shallots to the rope. It's a perfect, dry-yet-windy place for them to dry before winter storage. I'd noticed a few had fallen to the ground, and I was busily picking them up and testing them for dryness when I stood up right into a spider web. Upon closer inspection, my head was surrounded by occupied webs. I started thinking "why are the spiders here so early??? It's not August yet!" This year has gone by way too fast. After doing the most careful shallot removal of my life, I transferred them into mesh bags and hung them off the deck. That way they can finish curing, and be spider free.


In other harvesting news, we've already canned four batches of pickles using garden cucumbers, one batch of pickled carrots, and Gene's new favorite - a summer berry jelly he has decided to call "BluRB", for blueberry, raspberry, and blackberry. It's actually really tasty, and a great way to use up random quantities of garden berries. We didn't have quite enough to make the required amount of juice, so Gene put on a headlamp (it was after dark), and raided some of the blackberry bushes further up the road. We still have to can the 30 pounds of raspberries I picked a few weeks ago, but those will keep in the freezer. Much more pressing is the box of apples and box of peaches I bought over the weekend. I know what Gene's doing on his next days off! I think we're going to have to go make a cucumber run at Duris Farms on his days off as well, because I have a metric ton of dill that we need to use up. It's about six feet tall now. I didn't realize that dill could act as an invasive weed, but it seeded itself all over my garden. Hiding in the picture at left is all my chards, celery, and peppers, but you'd never know it.

This year, much like every other year, I managed to plant things with no regard for the need to walk through the garden later on. Somehow a pumpkin plant ended up in the middle of the zucchini area, and it exploded all over the place. I have to tunnel through pumpkin leaves to harvest the squash. The pumpkins are even growing up the deer fencing, so it's just a matter of time before the fence comes down. At least, in whatever places Harvey and Cinnabun haven't ripped down. The one-ton pumpkin in the front yard is living up to my expectations - it's huge! The vine goes most of the way down the driveway, and the pumpkin itself has to be around 100 lbs by now. Seeing as it's got another almost three full months to keep growing, I figure it will be taking up half the driveway in no time.

Hot, so very very hot

With the weather hitting the high 80s here at the farm, there's no shortage of critters hogging all the shady spots. The chickens sit around with their beaks gaping open and their wings curved out to the side, generally looking vexed and occasionally emitting an indignant squawk at nothing in particular. Most of them hang out in the shade under the deck, braving the heat only when I come outside to dispense watermelon and other tasty treats. I dislike hot weather for several reasons, the first being it's not particularly wise to wear shorts around animals. Dimsworth and Hawthorne like to investigate anything that's a bright color with their beaks, and are particularly drawn to anything blindingly white, such as my legs. So even though jeans don't play well with hot weather, I'm stuck with them.

I spend the hottest part of every afternoon scampering around outside, making sure everyone has clean, fresh water to drink. Goats are notorious for refusing to drink dirty water; they would prefer to fall over from dehydration rather than lower their standards. Since we have ducks, I have to change the water buckets a couple times a day since no matter how high I hang the bucket, a duck will find a way to dump dirt in it. The ducks love nothing better than playing in a freshly refilled pool, and usually don't even wait until I've taken the hose out of it to pile in. I can't stay irked at them for long when they're splashing and cavorting in the clean water, having the time of their lives. A few times I've been tempted to climb in there with them, but they have a bad habit of dropping bombs in the pool, and that's just not okay.

Harvey and Cinnabun don't mind the heat overly much, mostly because they choose to spend the sweltering afternoons happily munching their way through my garden. My shady and tasty garden. So far they've eaten my entire bok choy crop, and are quickly working their way through the chards and celery. They even have the gall to chitter at me when I "accidentally" spray them with the hose as I water the garden. When they're not being Bunnies of Destruction, they also spend their time in the shade underneath the deck. One of the things I love most about them is that no matter how hot it is outside, they still want to cuddle up together.

Thoughts on turkeys...

Seeing Dimsworth and Hawthorne lurking about in the pasture makes me realize how much I've missed not having turkeys. Anyone who says they lack personality has clearly never owned one -- Dimsworth and Hawthorne couldn't be more different from Thanksgiving and Christmas. Dimsworth, particularly, is shaping up to be a bit of a butt. He puffs up his tail feathers, which at his young age resemble a heavily-used, rarely-cleaned Swiffer duster, then flares out his wings and circles the ducks likes he's got something to prove. He particularly enjoys chasing the poor things, a habit he'd best grow out of quickly unless he wants to meet the business end of a garden hose.

Hawthorne, on the other hand, is much more quiet and contemplative. He sits quietly and watches the world go by. He also learned how to get into the duck enclosure, then taught Dimsworth that delicious kibble can be found there. I have to go out there several times a day and chase them out before they wolf down the ducks' lunch. Although at this point the ducks are still bigger, they are scared of the turkeys. Not that I blame them, what with their glittering reptilian eyes and all. Pretty soon they won't be able to fit through the duck door, and they'll be too fat to chase the ducks, so problem solved.

Time goes by way too fast!

He knew he was loved; RIP, buddy

As I was washing and packaging the eggs we sell at Valley Feed in Belfair, I couldn't believe the sell by date I marked on the cartons was already in September! That means in about a month and a half, it will be fall already. Not that I don't love fall, but it seems like summer just got here. I've spent the majority of my time outside, since this is our busy season here on the farm. That's why I haven't sat down to write an update in far too long! Quite a few changes have happened in the last few weeks, some of them good, some of them sad. My buddy King Julian, the rooster who would chivalrously knock Sean Paul out of the air in order to protect me, has moved on to the Big Farm in the Sky. I have no doubt he is now protecting the angels from Sean Paul's signature sneak attacks. KJ passed from old age, I think, since he was probably about 7 years old. The leg he injured during his fight with the eagle a few years back had been bothering him a great deal, and for about the last month or so I've had to lift him up onto the roost at night, then escort him down in the morning. We had a strong bond, he and I, so I knew right away when he was about to pass. I had the chance to give him a last cuddle and say goodbye. In the grand scheme of things, that's a pretty good way to go.

In happier news, Dimsworth and Hawthorne are ecstatic to finally be outside in the pasture with the rest of the critters. Every time I passed them in their brooding box, they would huff and puff, then jump on their climbing logs and launch themselves at the wire mesh cover. I took that to mean they wanted to be outside, although after I set them loose for the first time I had a brief worry that the wire mesh cover was the only thing preventing them from attacking my head. Luckily for me, they were far more interested in exploring their new environment, and now they follow me around chirping happily whenever I go out there. Although fully feathered, they are in that awkward teenage phase where they disturbingly resemble Skeksis from the Dark Crystal, minus the ceremonial robes.

The five ducklings have also been unleashed upon the greater pasture, and they spend the bulk of their time hosting pool parties. In fact, they rarely ever venture more than five feet from the big pond, and that's to take a sun nap. Ducks grow up much more quickly than chickens and turkeys; the cute fuzzy duckling stage lasted approximately five minutes. They only spent a month or so in the brooding box, and as soon as they were fully feathered out I relocated them to the duck mansion. It wasn't because they complained like the turkeys, they were actually quite calm and happy inside the box. They just spent their entire time in the litter box wading pool, excitedly splashing about, which forced me to clean the box two or three times a day. I don't mind the extra work, but white shavings don't grow on trees and they were blowing through two packages a week.

Speaking of blowing through two packages a week, that's about how many boxes of Wheat Thins all the bunnies munch through these days. Since there's nothing cuter than an itty bitty bunny eating a Wheat Thin, I started giving them one pretty much every time I went into the Bunny Ranch. Now I have seven snack cracker addicts who, in addition to their larger parents, clamor for handouts as soon as I set a foot in the door. I do balance out their diets by adding a never-ending supply of fresh garden greens to the mix, though. I'm not sure if it was the freakishly hot weather so early this year or what, but my carrots and my romanescu failed to produce actual vegetables. The carrots went to seed, and the romanescu is just a big pile of leaves. Bad for my culinary adventures, but good for the bunnies. The plants are about three feet tall, and they can demolish one down to the roots in a few hours.

Not all of my crops are doomed, though -- the corn is over seven feet tall with lots of plump ears on it, and the tomato harvest is going to be amazing. All four boxes of potatoes are filled to capacity, which is going to be a LOT of potatoes, considering each box is four feet tall with two foot sides. I'm sure there's a super easy mathematical formula that would tell me how many square feet of potatoes we have, but I am not friends with math (not even acquainted, really), so I'll just say we have a lot. I harvested close to 300 shallots, which I hung up to dry in our woodshed. We have already processed two batches of cucumbers into pickles, and I had enough strawberries in the garden to make 19 pints of strawberry jam. This weekend, it's all about raspberries. My friend Rachel took me to the Graymarsh Berry Farm in Sequim, and I picked around 35 pounds of them. I was the envy of all the other berry pickers with my tactical berry retaining device, which Gene had fashioned by attaching a padded neck strap to a plastic ice cream bucket. Rachel had the foresight to bring a red wagon along, and with the help of her daughter we filled up about ten buckets. I probably had at least a bucket's worth of my own raspberries in the raised bed Gene built, but I always raid the bushes while I'm watering, and for some reason there's none left.

Now that I'm lucky enough to be a full-time farmer, I see all kinds of beautiful, sweet, and cute things on a regular basis. (Don't get me wrong though, I see my fair share of things that make me shudder, too). Perhaps the most endearing one that never fails to make me smile is when King Julian picks a girlfriend. King Julian used to date Little Mama for years, until Little Mama went to the Big Farm in the Sky courtesy of a coyote. He stayed single for a long time, stockpiling his affections until the next Mrs. Right came along. And she did, in the form of Lemoncello, who goes by Lemon for short. I go outside all the time to find  chilling on top of Lemon, who seems content to let him use her as a chair. They snuggle constantly, and he stands guard while she lays her daily egg. It's absolutely one of the cutest things I've ever seen, and he's definitely the most chivalrous rooster on the planet. 

Cinnabun has also proved to be an extremely affectionate mama, and never strays far from the Bunny Ranch when I let her out to stretch her legs and eat some delicious grass and weeds. Her babies are so used to me now that they come up and sit on my hands when I put them inside their room. There are three jet black kits, three brown ones, and one steel gray. They run the size gamut from tiny little toy bunny to a big old hulking behemoth, whom I've creatively dubbed Hulk. Although they sleep most of the day, they never fail to come tumbling out from the nesting box when I put out the nightly salad and Wheat Thins. It's never too early to start their love affair with snack crackers, and boy do they gobble them up.

Speaking of things that gobble other things, we had yet another predator invasion this morning, this time by way of raccoon. I got up as usual around 5:30, looking like the walking dead as I shambled outside to do the morning chores and passing Gene at the kitchen table, who was getting ready to go to bed after just getting home from work. As I was coming back into the house after preparing the critters to meet the day, I noticed the ducks were staring at something. It's never good when ducks stare, which we've learned the hard way. Poor Gene got to end his day by running outside and shooting the raccoon who was stalking the herd. Gene's lucky, he doesn't even have to stop and put on plaid Nordstrom's muck boots or a Swamp People t-shirt to look like he means business. He's developed an aura of quiet menace that scares predators without having to resort to fashion accessories. I've tried to practice my menacing look, but people just end up telling me they've made great strides in water-soluble fiber products and I should look into it.

I don't like to brag, but they call me The Minkanator

Since no one wants to see a picture

of a gut pile, here's another

ferocious predator to look at.

This afternoon started out like any other as I made my way across the pasture to muck out the duck pond. The breeze was blowing lightly, and the sun sparkled on the surface of the water, or at least it would have if the surface wasn't carpeted with an inch of green algae. As I drew closer, I was startled by a flash of brown sliding into the open door of the Duck Mansion. Sure enough, the mink peeked outside and stared at me. A hush fell over the pasture as two predators eyed each other; I could see fear creep into his eyes as he took in my Swamp People t-shirt, the jeans I had rolled up into redneck capris, and my designer red plaid Nordstrom's muck boots. He knew one of us wasn't leaving the pond alive, and my boots were made for walking. The silence was shattered by my battle cry of, "Gene, there's a miiiiiiiiiiink!" and he disappeared under the gap between the pond liner and the ground.
Remembering that Gene had already left for work, I ran for my gun with all the grace of a herd of elephants racing for the last peanut. The resulting noise ensured the mink stayed under the pond until I got back. I circled the pond, looking through the scope, and within moments his furry little head poked up and I took the shot, even though my backdrop was the pond liner. I figured the pond could take one for the team, and sure enough, I hit both the mink and the liner. Unfortunately the mink disappeared back underneath the pond, and as I began emptying it out bucket by bucket it jumped up and limped underneath some nearby brambles. I couldn't find its body, but I'm confident it was a kill shot based on the pile of yuck it left underneath the pond liner. It's the kind of yuck a mink needs to live, so I didn't mind cleaning it up a bit.

Of course, killing one mink only means we get a bit of a reprieve from predation since our land used to be a mink farm back in the day. I'm glad we finished reinforcing all the various critter bedrooms, and now Cinnabun and her brood can frolic in peace in the remodeled Bunny Ranch. Gene also had to spend his Father's Day weekend in the garage, quickly building an addition to what I now refer to as Broodopolis. Originally, Broodopolis was one big box with a removable divider, so the ducks were in one half and the turkeys and new chicks were in the other half. I went outside early Saturday morning to see Dimsworth picking up a chick by the foot and spinning it around in a circle, exactly like a big brother playing airplane with a child. Unfortunately, Dimsworth seemed to delight in letting go just as he had built up speed, sending the poor chick careening across the box. Gene added on another compartment to the brooding box, and I moved the ducks into it, thus freeing up a separate compartment for the turkeys. They seem fairly happy even though it's just the two of them; I put in lots of logs for vertical climbing space, and they seem content to climb and perch. I think they miss having little chicks to pick on, though, since they seem to chase each other around a lot.