I know, I know. It's been awhile.

Four months in between posts is pretty abysmal, I admit it. But in my defense, my camera died. Surprisingly, it wasn't because I dropped it (I have now been relegated to plastic and Corelle dishes exclusively since I drop about half of what I pick up.) No, something happened to it internally, so the shutter only fired half the time, and the LCD screen shorted out. At any rate, as someone who can easily take 400 pictures a day, often of the same chicken, I was devastated by the loss. But about a month ago, Gene found a great replacement - not only does it take phenomenal pictures, it's also the lightest weight professional-level camera I've ever seen, so I can hold it for extended periods of time. To celebrate our new purchase, Gene took me to Bubba's and bought me a big bag of French fries, which we then offered up one at a time to the seagulls on the beach. He practically had to drag me away, even though I only got 712 photos.

Life on the farm, with a few exceptions, was pretty routine this winter. As usual, there were happy moments, like when I discovered a brand new greenhouse frog living in the orange tree, and heartbreaking ones, like when poor Hawthorne made the transition to a higher plane of existence with the help of a coyote. But truly, never has a turkey lived a happier, more fulfilling life. We also have further proof that Polish chickens only come in male, and have had to rename both Ms. Pepper and Mama Buffington (Dr. Pepper and Papa Buffington, respectively). 

Woolimina and Shy Shy are still the best of friends, and I'll periodically let them out into the front yard to eat the long grass. They have to be supervised though, ever since Woolimina took it upon herself to prune my Sugar Sweet cherry bushes into oblivion. Skeeter and Big Mack, our two remaining Flemish Giant rabbits, are also master pruners, to the extent that Gene is going to have to build some fences around the raised beds in the front now that planting season is just around the corner. I was weeding just this morning, and discovered they'd beaten me to the first plump, crispy asparagus spear I've ever grown, after patiently waiting three years for one to make an appearance. Not that I recognized it initially - I actually snapped it off, thinking it was a giant, partially gnawed weed. I never claimed to be an asparagus expert.

Things have been up and down in the world of indoor critters as well. Raphael the ferret passed away from some sort of brain problem, and I miss him quite a bit. But we gave him a few years pampered luxury living after rescuing him, and I'm quite sure he went to a better place, filled with blankets, plastic balls, and all the tunnels he could ever want to explore. Ceri has been diagnosed with hip dysplasia, even though she's not even four years old yet, but I'm confident we've caught it in time to be able to stall the progression. Now every Friday she gets water therapy, where she swims in a heated pool and gets a massage. She's definitely living up to her nickname of the $10,000 Dog, but she's worth every penny, even if she does hog all the pillows at night.

In aquatic news, Luigi the Thai Purple Devil Crab passed on, presumably from old age. But the cycle of life continues, in the form of a pregnant Amano shrimp we brought home from the pet store. We originally got the shrimp to help with the algae problem in the small tank, and the clerk was ecstatic when she discovered the shrimp had visible eggs. Shrimpy, as she likes to be called, was installed in her own special tank that sits on top of the 150 gallon tank in the dining room. And by "special tank", I mean glass jar whose former purpose in life was holding drinks such as lemonade and iced tea at BBQs. (Whatever, people, it washes). Unfortunately, there's quite a bit of contradictory information out there regarding the breeding of Amano shrimp (the eggs need brine! Salt water will kill the eggs!) And we must have gone the wrong route, because she no longer has eggs - plus she molted, which means she's ready to breed again, but there aren't any baby shrimp in the jar. So now Shrimpy is back with the boys, and I'm stuck with a jar full of baby snails of utterly unknown origin. They either came in with Shrimpy's water, or Shrimpy has alternative views on dating and we're now the proud parents of about 50 shrails. Right now they're about the size of a speck of dust, so time will tell. 

Every day is a bad hair day...

The rains have come in earnest. I shouldn't complain - after all, it was a relatively dry October, but still. Weeks of unseasonably gorgeous fall weather don't make up for the fact that now I'm sinking up to mid-shin in mud when I slog outside to do the chores. I've set up several dry spots for the chickens, which they love. They can explore under the trellises in the garden, which is rapidly disappearing thanks to Woolimina. She even ate the last of my Trinidad Scorpion plant. And all my cotton (before I got to harvest it - no apocalypse Q-Tips for us, I guess. And I was really looking forward to being self-reliant in the Q-Tip department.) But anyway, most of the chickens are smart enough to get undercover in the rain. But Polish chickens aren't most chickens. They're spectacularly dumb. Like fall in the duck pond because they don't realize it's water dumb. (On a side note, who knew chickens could swim? I actually had to chase her through the water before I could pull her out, she was having a blast.)

When I need a break from the rain, I go inside the greenhouse. It's warm, the sound of rain pattering on the roof is relaxing, and I'm quickly becoming obsessed with watching the mantises hunt flies. The way their triangular heads sway back and forth as they calculate the striking distance is nothing short of mesmerizing. And incredibly effective - there's hardly any flies left in the greenhouse anymore. I might have to go back to buying crickets at the pet store and letting them loose in the greenhouse, like I did two years ago to feed Gertrude. At least I won't have to chuck the crickets at a web - that was disturbing on so many levels.

On that note, you would think that the spider kingdom in general would give me a little credit for feeding one of their own for two months during the freezing cold winter. Gertrude didn't lose any weight under my watch, so you would think they would stay out of my dreams. I know a few posts ago I bragged about conquering my arachnid nightmares, but you know what they say about pride.... This time when I had the dream, the spiders were infesting my bed. That's low, spiders. Even for you. And Gene didn't appreciate getting woken up like that, even if there were real spiders crawling on him.

Finally, an egg sac to call my own!

Finally my hopes and dreams of having a mantis farm have been realized. No longer will I have to wait in line at the garden store with everybody else to get my own praying mantis larva. Thanks to Jasmine, I have an egg sac of my very own just waiting to hatch next May on one of my citrus trees! I haven't seen her in a while but I like to think she left behind her legacy in the form of 500 little mantis eggs.

Speaking of things that leave eggs sacs in their wake, I've definitely grown in terms of my relationship with 8-legged beasties. Thanks to all of them peacefully living in my garden, I've completely conquered my fear of spiders. Even if they're on me. (Sadly, the same cannot be said for Bess Bess. When she was here last, she moved a bag of potting soil for me, and came away with a fat black passenger clinging to the leg of her capris. My ears are still ringing.) The other night, I had that stupid stress dream where I'm in a room full of spider webs, all occupied, of course. In the dream, I have to get out, but of course there's no clear path, no matter how much I crawl and contort. So how do I know I'm officially not afraid of them anymore?  In the dream, I looked at all those plump beasties, then shrugged, and said, "Eh, they're not that big." Then I just walked out. Now I'm not the type that believes you can consciously control dreams (if I could, you better believe 80s MacGyver would have saved me), so dream Andie gets all the credit for that one. I bet I never have that nightmare again. 
 

The air is burning!

With great excitement and a thick pair of surgical gloves, I harvested my first batch of Trinidad Scorpions and Ghost Peppers. I ever so gently washed and dried them, then arranged them in the dehydrator with the more mundane cayenne peppers. I quickly researched the drying process on the internet, and concluded that our kitchen was large enough that dehydrating the peppers inside wasn't going to be an issue. The article advised opening a window and turning on a fan, but it was cold out and I'm lazy like that. Besides, billowing clouds of distilled pepper evilness only happen in other people's kitchens, not mine. And I was right, for about five minutes. Then I couldn't get the windows open fast enough, and Gene resorted to lugging the entire dehydrator outside while holding his breath. But the important thing was it worked, and after a few hours passed we could use that part of the house again.

Watery eyes and hacking coughs aside, though, I'm getting pretty irked about the whole hottest pepper on the planet thing. I came across disturbing news online, news involving the Carolina Reaper. It's potentially hotter than the Trinidad Scorpion, pending test results. Which means I might not have grown the hottest pepper on the planet, and have fallen short of my goal yet again. But there's always next year!

In other news, all the critters seem to be adjusting well to the changing weather. Mack and Skeeter have their favorite rainy day hiding spots carved out, and come bounding out of the woods whenever they see me to beg for a Wheat Thin. They aren't quite big enough to scare the chickens yet, so most of the time they lose their treat to a questing beak or two. I have to herd them into the Ranch and give them a cracker pile to console their hurt feelings and let them snack in peace. Unfortunately I haven't seen Harvey in far too long, so I'm starting to fear the worst. He's getting up there in age, and we've been having coyote problems. I haven't given up hope though, there will always be a special place in my heart for that crazy bunny.

It's almost time to open the garden up to the chickens, and the bunnies should love that as well. I've harvested just about everything there is to pick, and it's starting to become overrun by spiders. I try to let them do their thing, but some of them spin their webs right across the entrance path and I have no choice. The other day, I was in a particularly live and let live mood, so I bent and twisted and scrambled around several webs, each with a plump inhabitant smack in the middle of it. When I got through the tunnel, I turned around to look behind me, and I just about fell over. It was one of those "I can't believe I just walked through that" moments, all gloriously highlighted by the sun. There were so many of them I called Gene on my cell phone and asked him to bring me a stick to clear a path back. Shudder.

Goodbye, summer

I forgot how much I hate doing chores in the pouring rain. The animals are scared of me, since they're not used to seeing me in anything other than my signature Swamp People t-shirt. Apparently my bulky rain jacket and camo hat frightens them. Tonight I spent an hour wrangling chickens in the storm; they must have a bit of vampire blood in them because they refused to cross running water, which was cascading in rivulets all over the pasture. I wanted to put them up in the coop early so I wouldn't have to get sopping wet twice, and they were having none of it. Since chasing them while screeching, "Don't you want to be warm and dry????" didn't work, I resorted to pouncing on them when they looked the other way. Challenging work, but I won. Eventually. And about five minutes after I shut the coop door, it stopped raining.

We did have sun for the official first day of fall though. I celebrated the occasion by pushing the first pumpkin of the year off the deck, which exploded into stringy goodness down below. Woolimina was particularly happy - she enjoys squash almost as much as watermelon. It's almost time to open up the garden for the chickens, I just have to wait until my hot peppers ripen. The Trinidad Scorpions are turning a most alarming shade of red, and the Ghost Peppers are a searing shade of orange. I'm going to give them a few more days, then harvest everything. I'm a little worried about putting them in the dehydrator, because I fear the resulting pepper cloud might make the house uninhabitable. I figure I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.

Prompted by the changing season, I decided a little redecorating was in order. The chickens had been asking for privacy curtains in the coop for quite some time, so I finally gave in. I cut up white feed bags, and stapled them to the nesting boxes with the logo facing out, which makes for cheerful pops of color in the otherwise beige coop. I also rearranged the Quail Sanctuary, and gave them some sunflower heads as a special treat. They hate when I invade their space, but as soon as I shut the door they were all over them.

Vacation for all, except for Bessie

After all the veterinary-related drama, life has finally gotten back to normal here on the farm. Although I have to admit, our "normal" seems rather chaotic to anyone unused to sharing life with over a hundred critters of varying description. (So what if 75 of them are chickens? It's still an impressive number). Both Thing 2 and Ceri seem to have conquered their ailments, and are now medication-free with the exception of Ceri's allergy pills. Sadly, those are a lifelong investment. Apparently each pill takes over nine months to manufacture, so I don't foresee those prices dropping anytime soon. That's longer than it takes to pop out a baby!

At any rate, the most exciting news of the month has to be Bessie's arrival. Gene had his surgery last week, so she flew out to help me with the animals and lifting anything over five pounds. Although she's been here numerous times before, this is the first time she's actually had to help me with chores. Anticipating an overnight stay in the hospital, I figured the best way to make sure she could handle everything was to make her do all the chores for three days prior to the surgery. Her visit has really turned into more of a vacation for me, I have to say. She's actually doing quite well, although she has no inherent chicken wrangling skills. Apparently that's not an ability people are born with, I just happened to win the genetic lottery. I did convince her to hold a chicken, and once the high-pitched "get it off me" screeches had subsided, the experience was enjoyed by both Bessie and Mama Buffington.

I can grow anything, especially weeds!

With fall right around the corner, harvesting season is in full swing around here. I've gotten over fifty pounds of tomatoes so far, which currently take up precious ice cream space in the freezer. When Gene gets back from hunting, we are going to make salsas and sauces. I love prowling around the gardens, harvesting basket in one hand, camera in the other, checking on everything to see what's ripe. For the most part, all the fruits and veggies did amazingly well. With one noticeable exception. Back in February, I carefully planted (and labeled, I swear), a batch of exotic seeds imported from Africa. Several aloes, a cactus, and a couple varieties of trees. Not surprisingly, since even in the greenhouse the climate is nowhere near their homeland, not too many seeds sprouted. But I did lovingly tend to what I thought was a gorgeous, exotic Chaste Tree (it has lots of medicinal benefits - Google it!) For months I've watered it, fertilized it, and repotted it, catering to its every whim. Imagine my horror when a few more of them spontaneously sprouted in the garden. Apparently I've been tending to a weed for like seven months. No wonder it's over six feet tall. I blame the seed people for not putting a picture of the tree on the seed packet.

But onto happier subjects - after six long years, I've finally been rewarded with an actual guava on my guava tree! I was ecstatic when three of them blossomed for the first time ever, and now I've got an actual fruit! I have no idea if it's warm enough for them to ripen in this climate, particularly since winter is coming, but there's only one way to find out. This is definitely a summer of firsts - I also finally got some fruit on my Goji berry tree - one is ripening, and the other three are just sort of hanging there, looking somewhat sad. But the important thing is they're there. Finally. The Goji tree is also about six years old. Lucky for them I'm a very patient gardener. I'm hoping for avocados next year!

As relaxing as the last two week have been outside the house, they have been packed with drama inside the house. Within three days of each other, poor Ceri's earache came back, and then Thing 2 had to be rushed to the emergency vet with a blocked urinary tract. The poor kitty had to stay there for three days and needed around the clock care (yes, it's every bit as expensive as you're probably imagining). Right now our kitchen cabinet looks like I robbed a pharmacy - both Ceri and Thing 2 came home with three or four bottles of meds each, with every pill needing to be dispensed at a certain time. I actually had to make a chart, and feeding time is now as complicated as your average zoo. Thing 2 needed special, prescription canned food, which now all the cats are on because it's good for them. And for what it costs, it better have miraculous results. Chunk is pissed because he's on a diet, which started immediately after I noticed that Thing 2's vet referred to him as a "very large kitty". Since Chunk is probably twice his size, the dieting commenced. Now it takes me about an hour to separate the dogs from the cats and medicated food from non-medicated food, then dispense accordingly. I have to laugh, though, because the stampede at feeding time is pretty funny.